Put Your Hands on Me
by andhopeto
Summary: Fantasy AU: When a boy is lucky enough to get his hands on a half-Faerie boy in an auction, he ends up falling too deep into something he doesn't understand.  Full summary and warnings inside.
1. Introductions

**Title:** Put Your Hands on Me (_and magic sparks_)  
**Pairing:** Blaine/Kurt  
**Full Summary:** AU. Faeries exist, but are a rarity. Slavery, and more specifically, sexual slavery, is a way of life for many people. || When a boy is lucky enough to get his hands on a half-Faerie boy in an auction, he ends up falling too deep into something he doesn't understand. / When a half-Faerie boy is unlucky enough to be sold off in an auction to an ignorant human boy, he is sucked into a life he never wanted and forced to deal with an aspect of his species he didn't know existed.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own the rights to any of these characters. I simply dabble in this toybox.

**Warnings/Contains:** Non-explicit rape. Explicit dub-con. Slavery/sexual slavery. Fantasy-genre alternate universe. Dark!fic. Magic. Non-human species. PoV switches. General creepiness on Blaine's behalf. A fucked up society. Ear!porn?

((There are some spoilery warnings, but if you need to read all warnings, there is a link to my livejournal on my profile page. The full warnings can be found there.))

.

.

.

"I can't believe your dad already bought you a new one," Wes whined. "You only had that last one for a couple of months."

"When I saw this one, I knew I had to have him," Blaine said sheepishly, shrugging from where he sat. "It took a little bargaining with my dad, but he eventually agreed to sell him off to a good family. I liked him well enough, but you just don't pass up the opportunity to buy a Faerie."

"Oh man, where did you get him?" David asked, eyes widening as he looked at his friend's latest acquisition.

Blaine laughed at the question, sliding his fingers through the hair of the boy kneeling by his feet.

"Come on, spill," Wes said, prodding him. "Share and share alike. Did they have any pretty fae girls there? Don't be so tight-lipped."

Blaine understood his best friends' interest and excitement. Faerie folk were hard to come by, especially ones as young as the boy his father had just bought for him. But they were beautiful, and much better suited as pets than humans.

"He's only half, guys. And the seller was only auctioning off a couple of them. You'll be lucky if you see another pet with any degree of Faerie blood for sale for years. You know how much they hate the cold. They're almost never sold this far north."

Wes and David both made sour faces at this truth, but still weren't quite ready to let go of the idea of getting their hands on a pretty Faerie for their own.

"Can I touch him?" David asked, intrigued. He wasn't interested in Blaine's pet in any sort of sexual way, but the boy _was_ quite enchanting, and he'd never seen one this close up before.

"You want to see his ears?" Blaine guessed. He leaned over and brushed back his pet's hair, showing the guys. "Look, most people wouldn't even notice the point to them."

"I've seen normal people with pointier ears than that," David scoffed in scorn. Though, by 'people', David meant 'one other person who might have been wearing a Halloween costume', but still. Faerie were said to have long, pointed ears that curved downward. This boy's ears had a gentle point and curved a little, sure, but a somewhat shaggy haircut would hide them.

"Yeah," Wes chimed in. "They don't look anything like the ones you see on the Discovery channel."

"Guys, I _told_ you, he's only half fae. He isn't exactly seven feet tall, either." Blaine rolled his eyes, picking up his pet's leash as he stood.

"There's no way they're really seven feet tall!"

"I heard they were taller than that."

"Come on! Have you ever seen a seven-foot tall Faerie on TV?"

"Have you ever seen a Faerie _standing up_ on TV?"

"Guys!" Blaine said, putting out his free hand to try and calm his friends down. "Come on. You're both kind of right. The _male_ Faeries are the really tall ones. Female ones, like you two are more likely to see on television, aren't any taller than your average runway model." Blaine explained.

Of course, he also doubted Wes and David were getting their information of Faerie women from _the Discovery channel_. Right. More like the channels in the quadruple digits that their families probably didn't even realize they paid for, and showed things a lot more salacious than animals mating in the wild.

"Look, you guys can ogle my new pet later, okay? I promise. But for now, I want to bring him up to my room and get him situated."

"Are you sure he's house-trained?" David teased.

"Oh, hah, hah, you're a riot," Blaine dead-panned. "I'll see you two later and show him off for real, okay?"

"Fine," Wes agreed, making a face. "Be that way."

Blaine tugged on the leash, pulling his pet to his feet to follow beside him, listening to the sound of his two best friends scheming together how to get their own cute Faerie pets. The sounds grew fainter and fainter as he pulled his pet along, heading towards the grand staircase that led to the dormitories.

.

.

_five days ago_

.

I was so cold that it felt as though my skin were aflame. It tingled with a frozen burn, and I was certain if I had to stand there any longer, naked and out in the open, I would turn into an ice statue.

A frozen statue of a poor boy, half-human, half-Faerie, auctioned off to the highest bidder.

I'm sure it would sell for almost as much as what they were really auctioning me off for.

When I finally heard the ringing of a bell, my knees nearly buckled in relief. The bidding was over. They would, hopefully, allow me to wrap up once more. They didn't need to show me off any longer; it was a done deal.

Wasn't it?

I didn't want to allow myself to hope for much, not since the man who owned my sister and me died. We were willed to his son, who had no need nor want of two half-blooded pets, and a desperate need to pay off his father's debts.

Brih'tt'ny seemed pleased enough by the circumstances. She was always eager to please— not like _that_; our previous owner had no use for us like _that_— but also always seemed like she was itching in her skin, wanting and needing more than he was willing to ask of us.

She was going to make someone a wonderful bed-warmer.

I scoffed internally at the thought. 'Bed-warmer'. Hah. It was just a polite way of saying she'd be someone's sex slave.

That _we_ were going to end up being sex slaves.

That's all the humans thought the Folk were good for by this point, anyway.

I was led off the auctioneer's stage by one of the men who worked there, led back around to my sister where I was given a blanket to wrap myself in.

Not even offered the dignity of clothes. Of course not.

I had fallen so low. It made me ill to know that some stranger was going to walk in soon and take me away from the only family I had left. We weren't especially close, but Brih'tt'ny was still my sister, and there was affection there. The thought that I would never see her again was still slowly setting in.

"Don't be sad," she said to me, smiling brightly as I wrapped myself more tightly in the sole blanket I had been given.

'Don't be sad'? Sometimes I wonder what brains, if any, she had in her head. _Don't be sad._ Hah.

"And why not?"

"Because the guy who bought you is totally hot," she said dreamily, arching her head back to stare behind her instead of turning her neck like a normal person.

"Oh, well, as long as he's exceedingly attractive," I said sarcastically.

It, naturally, went right over her head.

"I know, right?"

I stood there, seething in frustration, anger, humiliation, defeat, so-on and so-forth, when my sister opened her blanket to envelop me in a hug, holding her blanket around us both.

"Britt," I whispered, softening.

"I'm not sure, but I don't think your ears are supposed to be that pink," she said in a tone that made her confusion obvious.

"I'm freezing," I complained bitterly.

"That's weird," she said. "So am I."

I decided to give up and enjoy the warmth she decided to share with me. The warmth _and_ the affection.

This would be the last time she would be here to give it.

.

.

The time passed too quickly. It wasn't much long before a man in a sharp business suit came over with a house employee to take me away from my sister.

I was brought to a small room with a desk and some rather official-looking people who sat around it, poring over papers.

"Here we are," the man in the suit said to the room as we entered. "Can we get this over with? I have a meeting at five." He didn't seem all that interested in the proceedings, so I assumed he wasn't the one purchasing me.

A teenage boy, a human boy, who barely looked any older than myself sat in one of the seats, looked up at me.

And the expression on his face sent a flame up my spine.

It felt… it felt _predatory_. I looked away from him immediately, lifting my chin haughtily to try and appear as if the look he sent me hadn't affected me in the slightest. I didn't want it to be apparent that the look he sent me both scared and excited me.

"Yes, sir. We finished looking over the contracts. Everything seems sound and above-board. It seems the seller is trying to sell off all of his father's property as quickly as possible to pay off debts left behind as well. All of the paperwork is in order, and there is a comprehensive and legally-registered genealogy available," a woman in a sharp suit said quickly. It was obviously tailor-made and of a very high quality. Two gentlemen who appeared to work with her, probably all legal counsel by the sound of things, agreed with everything she said and expounded on parts of it.

Both of them seemed to be wearing just as expensive suits as she. This said two very important things to me.

One: they all had remarkable fashion sense.

Two: they were probably this man's personal team of attorneys, and obviously paid a great deal of money. Which meant that he _was_ buying me, and must be extremely well-off.

Perhaps this situation wouldn't be _entirely_ awful. He didn't even seem all that interested in me, to be honest. He probably just wanted the status symbol of owning a Faerie, even a lowly half-blood like myself.

"I'm sure your son will have no complaints about his new pet, sir. All that's left is for the papers to be signed."

I froze in place.

His _son_?

I willed myself to calm enough to turn my head and, sure enough, there the boy was, still staring at me.

The expression on his face was _definitely_ predatory.

"What's his name?" the man asked as he was being handed a pen to sign with.

"Ker'tt'ny."

The room turned to stare at me. Only then did I realize I had been the one to speak. My face felt too warm; I was certain I was flushed. I refused to look anyone in the eye, but I never lowered my chin.

I had too much pride for that.

Only a second or two passed before the man, before my new owner's _father_ cleared his throat to draw the attention back to himself.

"If we want to change it, does it need to go into the contract? I don't want to be drawing attention to the fact that my son has a Faerie for his new pet unless he tells someone."

I was shocked. In fact, I was so shocked at the thought of someone wanting to _hide_ my status as fae, a claim owners used as a status symbol, that it took a moment for the hurt to register.

Hurt and shame.

He wanted to take my _name_ from me. The name that my mother had given to me, the name that tied me to my sister and we to our fore family.

I couldn't even try to hide my feelings from my face. There were indignities enough in being bought and sold as chattel, in being torn from my home and my family, being forced to stand in a room full of strangers, naked but for a blanket wrapped around my person. Being forced to stand entirely nude only an hour or so earlier while humans bid over who would own my body.

The thought of one of them taking my name from me as well was almost too much for me to bear.

I finally hid my face when I realize that my eyes were wet. I would rather the shame of hiding my face than allowing these Men to see me shed a single tear.

"I don't see why we have to make it a legal change," said a voice. It sounded much younger than any of the lawyers or people who worked for the auction house.

"Blaine—," his father began, before he was cut off.

"I mean, anyone who sees the legal documents are going to know he's fae anyway. His name is _Kirtney_?" I didn't even have to see it written down to know he'd mangled my name in his mind. It didn't even sound right. "So, I'll call him Kurt. That's a human name. There's no reason to go legally changing his name, Dad. It's a bit excessive."

The last thing I wanted was to be grateful to this boy, but I was. Fiercely so.

If I were ever freed, or somehow managed to run away, a legal change of my name like that would bar me from ever being welcomed by any blood relatives, even ones willing to shelter someone with 'impure' blood like mine.

A Faerie's name had power and meaning. To cut it away from me would be as bad as if they were to cut out my very spirit.

The boy, my new owner, _Blaine_— as was his name, apparently— seemed to be caught up in a staring match with his father for a time, a match of wills.

At least, that's how it appeared. His father surprised me by eventually smiling and clapping his son on the back, barking out a laugh.

"If that's what you want," he said indulgently. Blaine nodded his assent, and his father signed the papers he was being given. Blaine followed suit.

Surreptitiously, I dried my eyes on my blanket, trying not to think of where it had been before, or how well it may or may not have been cleaned before handed over for my use.

"We're going to need to get him, get _Kurt_," he corrected himself, "some clothes."

I looked over at my owner, eyes sore, and I was certain they were probably an unattractive shade of pink now, and was shocked by the smile he turned on me.

"We're going to need to do a lot of things with him before you can bring him back to school with you, Blaine, not just clothe him. You can have him fitted tomorrow, but _now_ I really must get back to the office.

"Look at what happened to 'Just ten minutes, Dad, I want to see if they're going to be auctioning that painting I wanted for Mother's birthday'."

Blaine blushed. I only noticed because he wouldn't stop smiling at me. It was disarming.

"You're lucky the Fabrays have been looking to buy Sam off our hands for months now."

"I _know_, Dad."

So, my new owner was a spoiled little boy with an overly indulgent father. Great.

"Look at the bright side," he offered.

His father cocked an eyebrow as if to say 'what bright side?'.

"You're likely to make a profit off of Sam. Quinn has been so adamant about getting Sam off my hands that I imagine her mother will pay just about whatever you ask for him."

I felt ill over all this talk of people being bought and sold on a whim, fighting to hold it in and keep my emotions private.

"You have a point there, son," he said with a laugh. "Come on. Let's get you home. You and your new pet."

_Slave_.


	2. The First Morning

**Title:** Put Your Hands on Me (_and magic sparks_)  
**Pairing:** Blaine/Kurt  
**Full Summary:** AU. Faeries exist, but are a rarity. Slavery, and more specifically, sexual slavery, is a way of life for many people. || When a boy is lucky enough to get his hands on a half-Faerie boy in an auction, he ends up falling too deep into something he doesn't understand. / When a half-Faerie boy is unlucky enough to be sold off in an auction to an ignorant human boy, he is sucked into a life he never wanted and forced to deal with an aspect of his species he didn't know existed.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own the rights to any of these characters. I simply dabble in this toybox.

**Warnings/Contains:** Non-explicit rape. Explicit dub-con. Slavery/sexual slavery. Fantasy-genre alternate universe. Dark!fic. Magic. Non-human species. PoV switches. General creepiness on Blaine's behalf. A fucked up society. Ear!porn?

((There are some spoilery warnings, but if you need to read all warnings, there is a link to my livejournal on my profile page. The full warnings can be found there.))

_._

_._

_._

_presently_

.

"And you go to _school_ here?"

_Déjà vu_.

"What? You were expecting three to a room, communal showers?" Blaine laughed.

"Something like that," Kurt said dryly.

Blaine didn't have his own _room_ at Dalton Academy, technically speaking. He had entire _suite_ to himself. Many of the students did. Most of them, in fact. Usually scholarship students roomed together in groups, but if there was a surplus of empty rooms available, even they tended to spread out.

"Dalton is _very_ exclusive—"

"Expensive," Kurt interrupted, distaste coloring his words so expressively that Blaine imagined he could actually see the way Kurt warped his words with his tongue.

It wasn't just the way Kurt accentuated certain syllables, or even his emphatic delivery. It was reminiscent of magic; when Kurt was irritated or annoyed, his words sounded sharp like glass; when he was tired, the words were heavy and weighted down.

It was an intriguing enough idea that he was too distracted to be annoyed by the way his pet continued to speak out of turn.

"That too. A very exclusive, _expensive_ private academy. The majority of the students here are heirs to some of the most wealthy and influential people in the nation."

Blaine wasn't ashamed to admit to himself that he enjoyed Kurt looking so astonished and out of place. He especially enjoyed the way Kurt's jaw dropped ever so slightly, lips parted and looking welcoming.

"You're looking at me like that again," Kurt protested half-heartedly. He didn't sound pleased, but he didn't _look_ displeased. Blaine chalked it up as one in the winning column on the imaginary chalkboard in his head as he continually kept score.

"Like what?" Blaine asked, crowding into Kurt's space and drawing him in close.

But Kurt shook his head helplessly, refusing to look Blaine in the eye. He was looking at a wall hanging instead. Kurt was wont to look _away_ from people above him in station, but never down, never demure and tucked away and afraid. He didn't act like a frightened little mouse.

It was one of Blaine's favorite things about him.

"You're not going to tell me?"

Blaine could, of course, demand that Kurt tell him what was on his mind. However, it did not mean that Kurt would do as he asked. Blaine really didn't want to go about the tediousness of trying to draw it out, only to be forced to punish Kurt for disobedience when he inevitably bucked against Blaine's hold over him.

Blaine doubted it was anything important, and he knew how to pick and choose his battles.

Why bother to fight a hard battle over something so trivial, Blaine thought to himself, when it would only make things harder for himself in the long run?

If he pushed too hard now, Kurt would only end up pushing back even harder in protest. Blaine was smart enough to figure that much out by now.

A sculptor didn't try to hammer out the fine details right off the bat. He started with a general shape, an _idea_ of his vision realized, and then refinements were made as time went on.

It would be the same with Kurt, and when Blaine was done, he would be a masterpiece.

.

.

_four days ago_

.

That first night had passed in a confusing blur. I think I had been in shock, because when I woke up in the morning, I couldn't remember where I was.

I was in a bed: the largest and more comfortable bed I'd ever been in. And I was blissfully warm. These were the only two thoughts in my head as I began to wake. I heard the noise of another person in the room and felt a shiver run down my spine.

"Brih'tt'ny?" I mumbled, refusing to move from my cocoon of warmth. When I felt a weight on the bed beside me, I opened my eyes.

To my surprise and horror, it was not, in fact, my sister, whom I had shared a room and bed with for my entire life.

"Hey, good morning, sleepyhead," said Blaine. He ran his fingers through my hair, which I could feel was cropped shorter than I usually wore it.

The night before came rushing back to me. The ride back to Blaine's family home, the multiple baths and scrubbings I had been forced to endure, having my hair cut, being _thoroughly_ inspected by the family doctor.

I'm pretty sure I tried to kick him in the face when he started to touch my most intimate of places. I remembered being held down, but I couldn't be entirely certain if it had been a precautionary act, or if I had actually kicked out in fear and in turn, restrained.

I had spent so much of the night before in a state of quiet panic that my memories were already hazy.

Blaine's fingers caressed the outline of my ear and I couldn't hold back a whine of pleasure. Toes curling beneath the blankets, I turned my face into the bedding so that he would not see my blush.

"So you like that, do you?"

I shook my head, but it was futile. He was obviously amused by my reaction.

When he leant down to _lick_ my ear, I reassessed that idea. Amusement didn't seem like it was at the top of the list.

"Please, don't," I whispered. It felt too good. My skin felt tight, stretched out too far and my stomach felt fluttery with excitement. I didn't want it to feel good. I didn't want to enjoy this violation.

"You don't mean that," Blaine said. His voice had grown heavy; it made me uncomfortable to hear it.

"I don't want this," I protested as he pushed the blankets off of me, rolling me back over onto my back. I stared up at him. He didn't look like a monster. He didn't even look frightening, in a general sense of the word. But here he was, holding me down with nothing more than a hungry stare.

"You will," he promised.

I shivered. This time, it had little to do with being cold, despite the sudden lack of warmth.

I clenched my eyes shut, only to regret it a moment later. I hadn't been expecting him to pull down the too-big pair of boxer shorts I had been given to wear to bed. Not that being able to see would have made it a less horrible experience, but at least it wouldn't have startled me so badly.

I scrambled to get away, but he pushed me back down with his free hand. I tried not to shake, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing how fearful I was.

"Shh," he said, leaning down over me and kissing my face: soft kisses, wet kisses, his mouth sliding down to my ear where he must have decided I tasted best. His tongue tickled the shell of my ear, his teeth tugging on my sensitive earlobe.

I wished he smelled bad, or were ugly, or was much less intent on making this pleasurable for me. The last thing I wanted was for this to feel good, to want this on any level. This was a violation.

The worst was the fact that he was assaulting my ears. My _ears_. It felt electrical; I could feel it all the way down through my body, my extremities all tingling. Worse, he knew the effect it had on me and was taking full advantage.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he promised me as he undressed himself.

_I'm not going to hurt you._

But he did. He broke something in me, that morning in bed, and it hurt. It hurt more than anything I'd ever felt before. For all his tenderness, his care, his attempts to make me desire him, he had damaged me irreparably. There was no physical evidence of it, but that didn't make it less true.

When he finished using my body, I was crying.

"Kurt?" He stroked my hair and wiped away my tears; a part of me wanted to turn into him and take the comfort he offered, but a much larger part of me felt only revulsion for him, his actions, the way he mangled my name.

Unable to bring myself to attempt escape, I laid there limply, wishing he would leave me alone to wallow in my misery.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," he said. The fact that he could sound so kind after an act so cruel tore at me.

My body seemed to move of its own volition; I no longer had any say over my limbs. He walked me into the adjoining washroom and ran a tap of warm water. A few moments and a soft cloth later, the sticky evidence of my release was gone from my body. Something unclenched in me, just a bit, as I could now pretend my body hadn't enjoyed the act he had forced upon me, that I didn't find pleasure in what he had done.

I stood there, lost in my own thoughts, the cold of the tile floor prickling at my feet. Normally, I would have found the chill nearly unbearable. This morning, I relished the physical pain it caused me, grateful for the way it overwhelmed my senses. I felt only pain: the icy prickle of air against my damp skin, the hard and unforgiving cold below my feet. My flesh ached, and it was all I could think about.

I was so absorbed in the feeling that I didn't notice him filling up the large, claw-footed tub on the far side of the room. It wasn't until he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me over to the steaming bath that I realized he had planned on a more thorough cleaning.

"You're shivering." He sounded confused. Concerned, even. "Come on," he said, pulling me in with him, "this will help warm you up."

The water burned, and I gasped reflexively.

"Is it too hot?"

I refused to respond. I stood there, knee-deep in a bath of hot water, feeling returning to my feet far too quickly as the rest of me was wracked in full-body shivers.

Soon, he was in the tub with me, and we were both sitting down, the water high enough to lap at my shoulders as we sat. He was behind me, surrounding me, legs on either side of my own and his arms wrapped around my waist. I even allowed him to draw me back to lie against his chest.

I still hadn't spoken since I told him I didn't want his touch. I couldn't think of a single thing I wanted to say. I didn't think it much mattered, in any case. It wasn't as though he was going to listen to anything I had to say. He hadn't, earlier.

"Are you going to sulk all day?" he asked me, picking up a bar of soap on the shelf beside the tub. He washed me with care, neither scrubbing me harsh enough to cause me discomfort, nor so soft enough to cause a tickling sensation.

I resented the implication that I was sulking. Offended, I refused to so much as look in his direction and closed my eyes. Well, perhaps some sulking was involved. But for the most part, it was a simply matter of being unable to bring myself to respond to him in any fashion.

He made me feel filthy, and not even the soothing warmth of the bath could help erase that feeling.

I quickly grew to regret shutting my eyes. The surprise of his hand on my privates startled me so badly that a wave of water went crashing out of the tub and onto the floor.

And then he had the audacity to laugh at me.

I started to climb out of the tub, wanting nothing more than to get away from this idiot human. Before I could even stand, he managed to tug me back down into him and he pinned my arms to my chest, his own wrapped tight around me.

"I'm only washing you. Calm down," he ordered. My fists clenched, aching to hit him or use my nails to claw at his face. I struggled, but he only held me tighter.

He was stronger than he looked.

Unable to free myself from his hold, I passively sank back down. I gave up.

The rest of the bath passed without further incident, Blaine washing both me and his own self. I even allowed him to wash my hair without kicking up a fuss. Every time his hands brushed against my ears I was forced to endure the most torturously pleasurable sensation. He was driving me mad.

By the time we were both clean and dried and back in his bedroom, it was evident that someone had been in to tidy up and change the bedding. A surge of gratefulness swept through me. I didn't want to have to look at the crumpled blankets and messy sheets where I had been laid out and taken against my will.

I pulled the robe Blaine had given me tighter around my body, trying to ward off the cold as he rummaged around in a closet for clothes for himself.

"Why do you always look like you're on the edge of hypothermia? Just looking at you gives me a chill." He was joking, trying to keep his words sounding light, but I couldn't help but take offense. Humans could be so thoughtless.

"Faerie folk aren't meant to be this far north," I said, aware but uncaring that my tone was even icier than I was at this point. "We get cold easily."

"The seller said you've lived in this area your whole life." He looked suspicious.

"I did," I said crossly. "I also lived in a house that wasn't drafty, and was given decent clothing to wear, too."

Morbidly, I wondered what he would do to me if I made him too angry.

So far, Blaine hadn't brought up anything about punishments or expectations of any sort. He just sort of pushed me into things and I went along with it, unhappy, but doing as I was told. I had grown up with strict rules, and strict punishments to follow if I broke those rules.

I didn't want to find out that Blaine whipped his disobedient pets, or worse. My imagination sometimes got the best of me, and so I had been very pointedly not allowing myself to think about it.

But I was feeling belligerent. I was sick of being this boy's new _toy_ and I wanted to stop feeling so used and pathetic.

"Were you, now?" Blaine said. His tone was ambiguous. I couldn't tell if he was angry or if he found my attitude funny.

Part of me, the scared part, wanted him to think me sulky and amusing, to write off my behavior with ease. But the other part of me, the proud, furious part of me, wanted to insult him, to make him angry with me.

"Any idiot," I said scathingly, "knows that Faeries can't tolerate cold weather. The fact that you don't is appalling."

He dropped the clothing he held onto the back of a chair and marched over to me. I knew I was trembling, but I held myself up tall even as he crowded me backwards, pushing me into a wall. I felt a mixture of satisfaction at being taller than the boy, but I wasn't stupid enough not to be fearful of what he might do to me.

"Is that so?" He frowned.

"It is," I bit out.

He lifted a hand to my neck, wrapping his fingers around it. It didn't hurt. It wasn't even uncomfortable. He wasn't gripping me, just… touching. I felt myself trembling, but refused to look anywhere but defiantly into his eyes.

"Then I suppose I ought to find you something warm to wear for now," he said at last, pulling away from me and walking straight back towards the closet.

"What?" I gaped. I hadn't meant to say anything, but my confusion couldn't have been plainer.

"I have a tailor coming to the manor later today to take some measurements so that you'll have a decent wardrobe, but I don't think you'll have too much of a problem fitting into some of my clothes." He was acting as if my confusion was in his meaning, rather than in the bizarre way he was treating me.

I slid down the side of the wall, uncaring of the way the robe bunched up. I ended up sitting on the floor, only the robe I wore separating me from the cold hardwood below.

I wanted him to be angry with me. I _wanted_ him to prove himself a monster.

And he wouldn't.

At this rate, he was definitely going to drive me mad.


	3. Confusion

**Title:** Put Your Hands on Me (_and magic sparks_)  
**Pairing:** Blaine/Kurt  
**Full Summary:** AU. Faeries exist, but are a rarity. Slavery, and more specifically, sexual slavery, is a way of life for many people. || When a boy is lucky enough to get his hands on a half-Faerie boy in an auction, he ends up falling too deep into something he doesn't understand. / When a half-Faerie boy is unlucky enough to be sold off in an auction to an ignorant human boy, he is sucked into a life he never wanted and forced to deal with an aspect of his species he didn't know existed.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own the rights to any of these characters. I simply dabble in this toybox.

**Warnings/Contains:** Non-explicit rape. Explicit dub-con. Slavery/sexual slavery. Fantasy-genre alternate universe. Dark!fic. Magic. Non-human species. PoV switches. General creepiness on Blaine's behalf. A fucked up society. Ear!porn?

((There are some spoilery warnings, but if you need to read all warnings, there is a link to my livejournal on my profile page. The full warnings can be found there.))

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_presently_

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"You're looking pale," Blaine remarked too-casually, opening the shutters of his bedroom suite to let in some natural light. That was a horrific understatement. Kurt looked _sickly_, not simply pale. Blaine hadn't noticed earlier, downstairs in the commons where the light was softer, but under the bright lights of his room, the natural sunshine pouring in through the windows, it was obvious.

Kurt ignored his comment, already wandering around on his own, investigating the quarters without bothering to ask permission.

Blaine stared as Kurt walked around, tilting his head to one side to better look at a painting on the wall. He reminded Blaine of a cat, defiant and too curious by far.

It was going to get him into trouble some day, and Blaine might just let it happen. Kurt needed to learn boundaries.

Servants had already been in to unpack Blaine's things— that wasn't a chore he ever had to concern himself with— but to his irritation, he found a cot stored under his bed. He had no plans to let Kurt out of his bed at night. If he were to find out there was something else to accommodate him, who knew what Kurt would try in attempts to get away from him?

Not that Blaine would be angered or cajoled into having Kurt sleep on a cot. But that wouldn't stop Kurt from trying. No. Blaine would have to have it removed during dinner that evening.

"Your friends…."

Blaine looked up, jerked out of his trained of thought when Kurt spoke up. He stood on the other side of the bed, holding on to a bedpost.

"What about them?"

"They said. I mean, I remember your father mentioning before." Kurt looked down, appearing strangely shy. Blaine waited with what he felt was considerable patience for Kurt to continue.

"Just ask what it is you want to know," he prompted at last.

"You had another," Kurt said, then paused, thinking of what word he wanted to use, and concluded with, "pet." Distaste curled around the word like a heavy wisp of smoke.

"Sam." Blaine smiled toothily, amused when the sight of it caused Kurt to avert his eyes. "He had been a birthday present."

Blaine didn't miss the way Kurt's lips twisted into a sneer, no matter how brief an action it was. He felt a momentary desire to push Kurt down to his knees and have him put his mouth to a better use than the casual disrespect he continued to display. Blaine brushed the thought aside. For now.

"My father sold him to some family friends of ours before we'd even gotten you home."

"Is that all people are to you?" Kurt snapped. "And when something newer and prettier than me falls into your lap, are you just going to sell me off to the first person you can shove me onto, without even a second thought?"

His eyes widened as he snapped his mouth shut, looking shocked at his own outburst.

Blaine walked around the bed and cupped Kurt's cheek. He didn't speak, not even when Kurt made his escape by running off to the bathroom, frantically shutting the door behind himself.

Blaine looked down at his empty hand, not at the door Kurt had disappeared behind.

It took him a few moments, but he shook himself free from his thoughts and went back to setting his room to rights. It was one thing for it to be clean and tidy, but no one ever thought to hang up his robe above the radiator to keep it warm, or put his dinner jacket on the back of his desk chair. The bed was too neat, blankets and sheets tucked in firmly beneath the mattress.

Blaine was busy making his bed more comfortable, freeing the beddings from their confinement, when Kurt came out of the bathroom. His face was pink, but not in a hale and healthy way. His cheeks looked scrubbed raw and the skin around his eyes was puffy. And there were a few damp spots on his shirt.

It was obvious to Blaine that Kurt had been crying, then tried to cover it up by washing his face. It hadn't worked.

"I'm sorry," Kurt mumbled, resolutely looking anywhere but at Blaine.

"No you're not," said Blaine. He straightened out his comforter and turned towards Kurt, brow furrowed. "Well, you might be. But you're not sorry for what you said, or for saying it. You're sorry because you think I'm going to punish you."

"Aren't you?" Kurt asked. He sounded like was going to be sick. His voice was heavy with unhappiness and it wrapped around him like a dark storm cloud.

It was there again, that twisting to his words that made Blaine feel too much when Kurt spoke.

"Haven't decided yet." Blaine decided to keep it at that for now. He wasn't angry with Kurt. Not really. But he couldn't allow Kurt to continue to act up like that, either. If he didn't do something about his disrespectful attitude soon, it would only get worse as he found he could get away with it without any repercussions.

He ignored the way Kurt looked away from him, fearful.

"Come here," he said, holding an arm out to his pet. Kurt's eyes darted over to Blaine momentarily before sliding off him and back towards the wall. Then to the floor. He walked over, movements stilted, unlike his usual, natural, graceful glide. Kurt stopped a foot away, but didn't offer up any resistance when Blaine dragged him in closer, pulling his body up against his own and held him close.

Kurt's arms hesitantly went around him, hands going to Blaine's waist.

"Sam was a gift picked out by my mother. He enjoyed belonging to me, and I'm certain he's enjoying belonging to Quinn Fabray right now. I had never planned on keeping him for too long, and he knew that."

Blaine felt a shiver run through Kurt's thin frame.

"If you're afraid I'm going to tire of you and dump you onto the next willing person I can find, don't be."

Blaine kissed him then, lips nudging against Kurt's. He didn't rush, he took his time with Kurt. Blaine plied him with sweet kisses, tender kisses, until Kurt's lips parted and his fingers dug into Blaine's sides. Blaine took this as an opening, and slid his tongue into Kurt's mouth, taking satisfaction in the soft whimper it elicited from him.

Kurt's eyes were closed, but Blaine kept his open, wanting to watch the expressions on Kurt's face as they kissed. And they _were_ kissing. This time, it was not simply Blaine kissing Kurt and Kurt allowing it to happen without a fuss, but he was actively responding to kiss, tongue making cautious sweeps against Blaine's.

Blaine decided to help himself along and lifted a hand to cup Kurt's face. He rubbed his thumb against his cheek before sweeping his hand back to trace the outline of Kurt's curved and pointed ear.

The resulting cry from Kurt went straight to Blaine's cock. He deepened the kiss and spun them around so that Kurt's back was now to the bed. He walked them both towards it until the backs of Kurt's legs bumped against the mattress.

Taking advantage of the fact that Kurt was still clinging to him, Blaine tucked his hands under Kurt's ass and pulled at his thighs to lift him up. He held up Kurt long enough to climb onto the bed, then tossed his pet onto it beneath him.

Kurt finally broke free from the kiss, breathing heavily. His eyes were wide and fearful, and Blaine took the time to think about how he'd miss that look one day.

"No, please," begged Kurt.

Though, he wouldn't miss dealing with his reluctance.

Blaine ran his hands down Kurt's chest, untucking his shirt from the pants he wore, ignoring the ways Kurt flinched at his touch.

"We don't have time for anything fancy," Blaine said in what he felt was a comforting tone. "You're starting to look worn down."

"I'm fine," said Kurt, though his protest was weak.

"You're too pale is what you are," Blaine said, voice firm.

"Please. Please, Blaine." Kurt sat up and wrapped his arms around Blaine's waist. He opened his eyes wide and adopted an exaggerated pout.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Can't we put this off until tonight?" Kurt asked of him, leaning in to leave a feather-light kiss on Blaine's lips before pulling back again. "I promise, I'll be good. I'll do whatever you want."

"Kurt…" Blaine said warningly.

"Please?"

Blaine looked at the pleading expression on Kurt's face and took stock of his options. Really, Kurt would do what Blaine wanted, one way or another. But the thought of having a night where Kurt didn't cry or constantly ask him to stop sounded appealing.

Making up his mind, Blaine moved to the head of the bed, tugging Kurt along with him, and sat with his back against the headboard. He had Kurt kneeling beside him, worry evident in his face.

Blaine picked up one of Kurt's hands and pressed his palm against the bulge in Blaine's pants. Kurt tried to jerk his hand away, but Blaine's fingers clung tight around his wrist, holding him in place.

"Use your hand on me," ordered Blaine. When Kurt tried to protest, he squeezed his wrist a little harder. "Use your hand on me," he reiterated, "and tonight you will behave yourself. No crying, no complaining."

Kurt was silent for a moment that felt like an eternity to Blaine, but then he looked Blaine in the eye.

"I can't help it if I cry," he bit out. Blaine couldn't help but find his constant defiance almost cute, which was not a good sign. "But I promise. No complaining."

"We're bargaining now?" Blaine was annoyed, but his amusement over Kurt's audacity was winning out. And, well, the annoyance was more at the fact that he was hard and not getting any satisfaction than anything else.

If he hadn't gotten rid of Sam, he would have had his cock expertly sucked and been out the door by now.

"Yes." Kurt's tone was firm. It was also all bravado.

"This better be a _good_ hand job." Blaine sighed and leaned back, letting go of Kurt's wrist.

Kurt's relief was heavy in such close proximity. He took the time to rub his newly freed wrist like it hurt him, looking down and away from Blaine entirely.

"Did I hurt you?" Blaine asked him, reaching over to inspect the possible damage, but Kurt jerked his arm out of reach, holding it close to his chest.

"It's fine," he said, lifting his head to stare straight into Blaine's eyes.

Kurt's looked like they were on fire.

"_I'm_ fine," he amended.

It was painfully obvious that he wasn't fine at all.

Blaine frowned, but leaned back, accepting Kurt's words. He didn't believe them, but he didn't feel like arguing.

"Then stop procrastinating."

Kurt sighed in disgust, but he reached out to Blaine, unbuttoning his pants with deft fingers.

Thankfully, Blaine's arousal had waned very little during Kurt's poor attempts at deflection. As Kurt's fingers freed him from the confines of his clothing, he allowed himself to sit back and enjoy the attention.

Kurt pulled his underwear down along with his trousers, not taking the time to be careful as he tugged the pants down to Blaine's knees.

"No need to be so rough," Blaine complained half-heartedly. Kurt stared at him with a strange look in his eyes, but he didn't speak. He simply wrapped his fingers, thick and sturdy, around Blaine's penis.

There weren't words for how it felt.

Blaine was sure that Kurt had no idea the effect he had on him. And, truth be told, Blaine didn't actually want Kurt to know. He let Kurt get away with far too much as it was. He didn't need Kurt holding any more leverage over him.

"Tighter," he instructed, settling back against his pillows.

Kurt scowled, but complied. A little _too_ well.

Blaine hissed in discomfort and shifted his hips. "I can have you beaten, if I wish," he said, not entirely meaning the threat implicit in his words. Because, yes, he certainly could have Kurt beaten. He could have Kurt thrashed, or flogged, or whipped. He could throw Kurt out into the snow and tie him to a tree for the night if he wished. Blaine could loan him to the Warblers to play with. Take a blade to his porcelain skin. Or a branding iron.

Really, his choices were endless, assuming he didn't kill the fae boy.

Not that it was illegal or anything, just frowned upon. Also, his father would be furious at the loss of such a fine asset.

But he couldn't imagine ever doing any of those things. He'd always been a soft touch, but Kurt brought out the absolute worst in him. Blaine wanted to cosset Kurt, pamper him, please him until he purred in happiness.

Every time Kurt cried because of him, it hurt. Somewhere deep in his chest, there was an ache. Only when Kurt was pleased did the hurt lessen.

And the very last thing Blaine ever wanted was for anyone to find out about it. Even Kurt. _Especially_ Kurt.

"Sorry," Kurt apologized in a too-pleasant tone of voice that wasn't fooling Blaine at all. Fingers loosened enough that his grip was no longer painful, Kurt pumped his fist up and down over Blaine's flesh, gaze focused down on his task.

His eyes were darkening, pupils widening as he stared at the effect he was having on Blaine's dick. His breath was getting shallower, and he was slowly leaning in closer.

Blaine wasn't sure what, precisely, was happening, but the air in the room felt like it was growing warmer. Or maybe that was just him. It was hard to tell. Kurt's grip was powerful and sure, his rhythm steady.

He was not prepared for Kurt to lean down and lap at the small amount of fluid gathering at the tip of his erection.

One dainty flick of the tongue, then two more broad strokes to remove all traces of it from the head. Kurt then placed his lips to the glans and pushed his tongue to Blaine's slit, stroking it fervently, seeking out whatever he could gain.

Blaine wasn't prepared for this and cried out in surprised pleasure, his toes curling at the added spark of pain from Kurt's over-enthusiasm. His hands pushed their way down and he buried his fingers in Kurt's silky hair.

He did not push or guide with his hands, he didn't even go for his secret weapon of Kurt's too-sensitive ears to try and encourage him. He just needed something to hold onto under this sudden onslaught by Kurt's mouth.

Even without direction, Kurt pressed his mouth down a little farther and began to suck, fierce, noisy sucking with his lips tight around the head. His hand was still moving, but now his actions were jerky and unsteady, hasty and needy.

Blaine had the impression that Kurt was begging him to come, without a single word being spoken between the two of them.

And Blaine had no problem granting this particular request. He didn't hold back. He relaxed into his pillows, head flopping to the side, hair dragging against the headboard. He couldn't watch any more. It was too much: Kurt's sunken cheeks; his mussed hair with Blaine's fingers threaded through; the red flush that ran from his neck to the tips of his ears; his strong fingers toying his the base of Blaine's cock, his balls.

With a gasping cry, Blaine came. His eyes rolled back into his head, the muscles in his legs spasmed, his back arched.

He was seeing stars in the backs of his eyelids.

Blaine came to realize that his knuckles had gone white from how tightly he was gripping Kurt's hair. Shakily, he forced himself to loosen his fists, petting down the now spectacularly messed strands, weakly attempting to fix the mess he made.

Kurt, strangely, didn't even seem to notice. He had swallowed down all of Blaine's release and was now busy licking him clean, tongue making neat swipes over too-sensitive skin. When Blaine pushed him away, not unkindly, but out of necessity, Kurt made a surprising whine of disappointment in the back of his throat.

Sulky expression affixed to his face, Kurt sat back on his heels, sucking each of his own fingers clean in succession.

The sight of it was too much. Too, too much.

Blaine groaned, slipping further down onto the bed to press his face into a pillow.

He was sweaty, his pants still around his knees. His hair was likely a wreck, and he was felt completely wrung out and exhausted. He closed his eyes, remembering the way Kurt looked.

Kurt had looked like the cat that got the cream.

"C'mere," Blaine said, muffled by his pillows, but unwilling to move. There was silence as Kurt froze and ceased slurping on his fingers. For a moment, Blaine thought that Kurt had come to his senses, was going to run off to the bathroom and hide away from him in shame.

The mattress shifted beneath him, and then warm hands started to tug at his pants. He was surprised that Kurt was taking the time to help him back into his underwear, and expended what precious little energy he had in raising his hips to make it easier.

"Kurt?" he asked, but was met by silence as his trousers were drawn down his legs, his shoes being carefully removed from his feet.

It made him feel strangely vulnerable, allowing Kurt to take care of him like this. He knew that it shouldn't, that this should be an expected behavior from his pet, but this was _Kurt_. Belligerent Kurt, cold Kurt, distant Kurt who gave him angry, hurt looks without provocation.

He felt the bed move again, but didn't hear the expected clatter of shoes being tossed to the floor or the clink of his belt buckle hitting the hardwood. No, instead, he peeked out and Kurt was folding his pants over a chair and setting his shoes neatly next to his desk.

Kurt removed his own shoes and placed them beside Blaine's own, then looked around. Blaine buried his face back down, not wanting, for some reason, Kurt to catch him staring.

He heard the rustle of clothing, and then he was being crowded on the bed, another body curling up into his space behind him. He was tempted to turn around and gather Kurt into his arms, but he didn't want to startle him.

The air was still warm, even though it should have been cold and drafty. It was still early, and no one had been in to build up a fire in the hearth. It wasn't only that it felt warm, though. That, Blaine could have contributed to his exertion, even though by now he should have been feeling a chill from his pantslessness.

It wasn't just the strange warmth that was off about the room, either. The air smelled sweet, like fresh-cut grass after a spring rain, and ozone, and the way pure water from a spring tasted on your tongue.

Blaine was beginning to think there was something more to the way he thought Kurt spoke strangely, or the way his mood seemed to be contagious. A good mood couldn't make him taste sunshine.

Could it?

Kurt squirmed in closer, pressing himself up against Blaine's back, tucking his knees up under Blaine's.

"Are you cold?" Blaine asked, voice thick from how tired he felt. He wasn't about to fall asleep, but his limbs were heavy and his body uncooperative.

"No," Kurt whispered into his hairline, breath tickling the nape of his neck.

He didn't offer up any insight to how he actually felt, until they had been lying there for several minutes. Blaine's breath had evened out, he was relaxed, and his eyes were closed. It was easy to mistake him for being asleep.

The room was rapidly cooling, the scents Blaine had smelled before were fading like an old, distant memory.

"What are you doing to me?" Kurt whispered, lips brushing Blaine's neck as he spoke.

Blaine didn't move, didn't say that he had been wondering the same thing. He didn't move a single inch, waiting until Kurt's breathing deepened. He waited longer, waited until he felt Kurt's head lay heavy on the pillow they shared. He waited until he heard Kurt mumbling as he was wont to do as he slept, and Blaine very, very carefully rolled to face him.

No longer pale and sickly looking, Kurt had a healthy glow about him. His cheeks were pink and the rest of his skin was no longer close to translucent and near-jaundiced.

It was a shock to see the difference.

"What _am_ I doing to you?" he asked himself.

Blaine swallowed down his fear and surprise and slowly slid out of his bed, eyes never leaving Kurt's body. Tenderly, he shimmied a blanket down from under the Faerie's long legs and drew it up over him with care, tucking it around him.

He told himself it was to keep Kurt warm, to keep him from getting sick, or from waking up with a chill. He told himself that he was being practical, that there was nothing sentimental about tucking a blanket around another person, that he wasn't cherishing Kurt with the way he attended to his needs.

A tumultuous twist in his insides begged to differ, but he valiantly ignored it, brushing Kurt's hair off to one side of his face. His fingers trailed down his cheek, sleep-warm, and moved further down to the jeweled collar around Kurt's neck.

He touched it with reverence, and then withdrew his fingers like he'd been bitten by it.

"What are you doing to _me_?"

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(( This ends what I already have written. I just want to say thank you to everyone following/fave'ing, and especially big thanks to all those leaving comments/reviews. ))


	4. Remembrance

**Title:** Put Your Hands on Me (_and magic sparks_)  
**Pairing:** Blaine/Kurt  
**Full Summary:** AU. Faeries exist, but are a rarity. Slavery, and more specifically, sexual slavery, is a way of life for many people. || When a boy is lucky enough to get his hands on a half-Faerie boy in an auction, he ends up falling too deep into something he doesn't understand. / When a half-Faerie boy is unlucky enough to be sold off in an auction to an ignorant human boy, he is sucked into a life he never wanted and forced to deal with an aspect of his species he didn't know existed.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own the rights to any of these characters. I simply dabble in this toybox.

**Warnings/Contains:** Non-explicit rape. Explicit dub-con. Slavery/sexual slavery. Fantasy-genre alternate universe. Dark!fic. Magic. Non-human species. PoV switches. General creepiness on Blaine's behalf. A fucked up society. Ear!porn?

((There are some spoilery warnings, but if you need to read all warnings, there is a link to my livejournal on my profile page. The full warnings can be found there.))

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_four days ago_

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"Are you still cold?"

I didn't look up. I wasn't fooled by Blaine's gentle tone; I was sharp enough to know that he didn't hold any real concern for how I felt. He'd proved that much this morning.

Uncaring how sullen it made me look, I wrapped my arms around my legs, knees tucked up under my chin, and stared out the window. The view was depressingly devoid of life. It had snowed the night before, and the ground was covered in a layer of white. No grass, no leaves, no animals scurrying around and scrounging for food, no birds.

No _birds_.

Blaine's pen ceased its incessant scratching, and then I heard the sound of his chair scraping across the floor.

I wasn't surprised when I felt his presence hovering behind me, the heat of his body warming the air between us. I looked up and saw a reflection of him in the glass.

When he reached out, his touch didn't startle me, but I flinched away in disgust anyway. He placed his hand more firmly on my shoulder and squeezed.

"_Are you cold_?" he asked me again, more pointedly this time. It was plain that he expected me to give him a response, but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

I'd rather suffer in silence.

Unfortunately, as I shifted across the window seat to move closer to the pane, my body betrayed me with a shiver. His fingers tightened, probably in irritation at how little I was cooperating, and he did something that surprised me.

I really don't know what I was expecting from him. This sort of behavior I was displaying hadn't been tolerated by my previous owner; I would have been punished by the housekeeper ten times over had I acted like this back home.

Then again, I was also always warm and comfortable back home, with no one demanding horrific things of my person, and with my sister always there beside me. I felt I was owed a little leniency.

Though, a decidedly morbid part of me was curious to find out what Blaine would do if I tested the limits of his patience long enough. I wasn't foolish enough, nor naïve enough, to think he could do no worse to me than what he'd already done. What I'd endured that morning was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. That didn't mean it couldn't get worse. It could _always_ get worse.

Wary of punishment, I expected him to strike out at me. Or, considering he hadn't hit me thus far, I thought perhaps he would cajole me into responding. What I _hadn't_ expected was for him to walk out of the room, leaving me there on my own. Which was precisely what he then did.

I looked around the room in confusion, wondering if I was supposed to just stay here by myself, or if he had counted on me following him. Being left alone like this in one of the numerous rooms in this house was, well. It was uncomfortable.

If he had abandoned me in his bedroom, it would have been fine. The bathroom was right there, and so was the bed. Not that I had any desire to climb back into it any time soon, but at least then I could warm myself under the blankets. I didn't know how to find my way around the manor, and I didn't want to poke my nose where it wasn't allowed in my clumsy attempts to find my way back.

I hugged my legs more tightly and went back to watching the grounds outside the window.

Lost in my own mind, I didn't hear Blaine's return to the study. In fact, I didn't notice him at all until he was dropping a thick, luxuriously soft blanket over my shoulders.

I'm ashamed to admit that I jumped and lost my grace for that moment. If not for his steadying hands, I would have fallen backwards, right onto the floor.

"Careful now," he murmured into my ear. His warm breath tickled, and I ducked my head to rub my ear against my shoulder to rub away the sensation.

Blaine laughed at me.

"I thought Faeries were supposed to be graceful," he mocked.

"You startled me," I said, giving him a cold look. The effect was ruined, I'm sure, by the way my fingers tugged at the blanket he had gifted me with, pulling it tight around my frame.

His expression could almost have been called tender at that point, especially taking in the way he sifted my hair through his fingers.

"It speaks!" he said with far more cheer in his voice than was warranted by the situation. My look only grew icier.

Pleased by the discomfited look he adopted, I turned away to stare back out the window.

'It'. He called me '_it_'.

Blaine kissed the back of my neck, obviously ignoring how uncomfortable I was due to the attention. I was loath to call it affection, because I was doubtful there was any real emotion behind his actions apart from lust.

"Don't," I snapped. I didn't think he would stop, but it wouldn't feel right not to protest.

Blaine tugged on my hair almost to the point of pain, pulling my head back to bare my neck, and bit my ear.

"Stop," I tried again. Unfortunately, it came out sounding more like a moan than cold and severe. It wasn't fair that my body continually betrayed me this way when it came to him.

"Ask me nicely," he said, moving his mouth down to my neck, speaking into my skin.

In that moment, I thought for certain I was going to be sick all over the perfectly lovely hand-stitched upholstery of the window seat.

"Please stop," I whispered. I couldn't make myself any louder than that. I was barely able to choke out those words at all. "Please stop." It was marginally easier the second time around.

Blaine hesitantly pulled back and ran his fingers through my hair to straighten the mess of it he'd made.

"Please stop. Please, please stop."

The same words kept spilling from my mouth.

Blaine froze. He extracted his hands from my hair, gentle enough not to pull, and he took a step back, giving me space to breath. I hadn't realized I'd stopped.

I gasped in a breath once, twice, three times. I started to cough on the third rough inhale and the sudden pain in my chest woke me from... from whatever _that_ was.

Unfolding my legs out from under me, I stood, dropping the blanket on the seat behind me. My balance was off and I wobbled a little, but still I stood until I steadied.

The second I felt the strength return to my legs, I stepped forward, crowding Blaine.

"I am not some _doll_ you can pluck off a shelf and play with," I said in the nastiest tone I could muster. "I am a _person_. A piece of paper covered in legal jargon doesn't make me any less a person. I'm not your _toy_."

Breathing heavily, looking down my nose at him, I felt tall and strong and, for the first time in too long, I felt like I had some badly-needed control.

At least, I felt that way until I registered the indulgent look on Blaine's face. He was smiling at me like I was a recalcitrant child who was to be humored and indulged in until they ran out of steam.

"Are you finished?" he asked me.

I weighed my options, and decided on the safer of the two ways this could go. Instead of fighting back, I shrunk back and sat down on the ledge, looking anywhere but at him.

"Yes," I said dully, the fight leaving me.

"It's okay, Kurt," he said kindly. "You'll get used to it soon enough. I know things must be different here than how they were with your last owner, but I promise, you'll get used to it." It was the kindness that made his words hurt so much.

"No." I shook my head, squeezing my eyes tightly shut.

"You will." Blaine stepped forward and tipped my chin up to face him with two curved fingers. He didn't say a word until I opened my eyes. Then he spoke: "I've seen it before with other pets. You just need a little time."

I shook my head again, knocking his fingers out from under my jaw without trying.

"_Yes_," he said more firmly, though no less kind than before. "Kurt," he then said, sounding much more serious. "You can't act out like that again. And I can't allow you to get away with acting out like this without some form of punishment."

My fingers clenched into fists, which I then had to fight to relax. I didn't want him to think I was going to fly off the handle and hit him, or something else equally foolhardy. I was in enough trouble as it was.

"I apologize," I shot out immediately, my voice wooden and lifeless. He stared at me, contemplating, I'm sure, what to do with his insubordinate pet.

"I still have work to do," he said at last. "The tailor will be here in a few hours and I don't need any more interruptions from you."

Horrified, and all-but certain he was going to do something awful to me, like gag my mouth and tie me up, or lock me in a closet, or worse, I stared up with wide, hurt eyes. I didn't actually think he would show me any sympathy, but I assumed it wouldn't do any harm to try and look vulnerable either.

"In the corner," he said, pointing to a corner near his desk where he would easily be able to keep an eye on me.

I didn't move, uncomprehending his meaning.

"Up. _Now_," he ordered, looking displeased at having to repeat himself.

I complied, standing back up and going to the corner. I turned to face him, question plain on my face.

"Turn around. Nose to the corner. You'll stand there until I'm finished with my paper, or until the tailor arrives to take your measurements."

I turned to face the walls and indulged myself in making a face. Did he think I was a small child? I hadn't been punished in this method since I was very small. Brih'tt'ny and I would torture each other with poking fights or pulling each other's hair until someone, usually the cook, got annoyed enough to send us to separate corners. It never stopped us from sneaking dirty looks at one another when no one was watching, but it was usually a boring enough punishment to teach us a lesson for at least a couple days.

I scoffed inwardly at the idea of this being a punishment, but I wasn't going to complain. If Blaine wanted to treat me with kid gloves, then all the better for me. I would take standing in a corner over the housekeeper boxing my ears any day.

Blaine took up his place at the desk again; the seat was on the squeaky side, and he didn't seem to know how to lift a chair rather than drag it across the floor. Soon, I heard the _skritch-scratch_ of his pen once more.

It wasn't long before I found myself missing my window, no matter how dull and lifeless the view had been. At least there I had something to look at. Then, I began to miss the blanket Blaine had procured for me. The clothes he had given me to wear this morning were soft and comfortable, but on the thin side. I was accustomed to soft, thick socks and sweaters, not flimsy sleep pants and itchy socks made from man-made materials.

I simply wasn't used to this pervasive cold that seeped into my bones. I grew up in a house that belonged to an old man who felt the cold almost as much as myself or my sister. As long as I stayed indoors, the winters were always tolerable; they didn't leave me miserable and constantly chilled the way I felt here.

Brih'tt'ny and I would spend most of our days helping out in the kitchen, warmed by the ovens and stove which constantly working, constantly feeding extra heat into the room. Even if we were given time to spend for ourselves, we would often sit at the counter, nibbling on the hot, fresh-baked bread rolls Cook would slip us to keep our mouths occupied. Sometimes, if given permission, I would spend the afternoon in the library, curled up in an armchair next to the radiator.

I never had to worry about keeping warm back home. Even if it was a particularly cold day and the heating system couldn't keep up, my sister and I would bundle up in bed together, napping and telling each other stories. It didn't matter if it was Brih'tt'ny's stories about what the stable master and cook were supposedly getting up to in their spare time, or my stories from books I'd recently read, or our own private, made-up stories about what our parents must have been like.

Sometimes, we would spend the entire day like that. Our record was three days. It was during a terrible chill that lasted for days when we finally broke out into a meaningless fight, our tempers frayed from too much time alone together. Brih'tt'ny left with her feelings hurt and spent the rest of the day with the cook's son, Finn. Meanwhile, I spent the day in the stable with the horses, warmed by their presence and the friendly company of the stable master.

He was always kind to me, kinder than most. To Brih'tt'ny as well. He never treated us like we were less. He treated us as though we weren't any different than two fully human children. He taught me all about horses, too. I loved to spend my summer afternoons grooming them, and they had taken to me immediately. Including the ornery old horse who didn't like anyone. Even the stable master had a hard time with keeping him settled enough to exercise and groom him.

He was always sweet as a foal around me, playful and friendly and always poking his nose in my pockets expecting a treat.

I never said it out loud, a silly, sentimental part of me not wanting the other horses to hear, but he was my favorite. It was always a good feeling to know that I could walk into the stable and find him waiting for me, always happy to see me, never seeing me for anything but a person. A _friend_.

Lost in my memories of home, it took me a while to notice the ache that was building in the small of my back, between my legs. The longer I stood, the more the discomfort grew.

Blaine had been very careful with me that morning, but that didn't make up for the fact that I had been tense and uncomfortable throughout the entire act. It didn't make up for anything, really, but the most relevant matter at that moment was that I was still feeling sore, no matter how gentle he had tried to be.

As soon as I acknowledged my discomfort, the more acutely I felt it. My muscles were tense and I felt restless, wanting to walk around to loosen up. The more tense I grew, the more sharp the pain became. It was tolerable, but the thought of standing here like this for another hour or more was a nightmare.

I spared a glace over to where Blaine was sitting, working steadily on whatever it was he had to do. Work for school, I thought, but he hadn't actually said.

"Turn back around." His words were lazy and tinged with amusement. I scowled, but obeyed, not wanting to give him reason to add to my punishment. I leaned my forehead against the two walls and wrapped my arms across my chest to ward off the cold.

_Bastard_.

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I was immensely grateful when Blaine, at last, permitted me to leave my corner.

"How long...?" I asked, forcing myself to sound meek and timid under his stare.

Blaine tugged me over towards him and held me against his chest, leaving soft kisses across my jawline. I endured the touch without complaint, but didn't do anything to encourage it. I didn't want him to think I was going to roll over and beg for his touch because he was showing a little kindness after punishing me.

"Two, two-and-a-half hours?" he said, brushing my hair out of my face with his fingers.

Then again, perhaps a little clinginess could work in my favor. I dropped my head to his shoulder and leaned in a little closer against his body, smiling to myself at how pleased he seemed by my actions.

"You know I let you off easy, don't you?" Blaine asked me, his tone serious and not betraying his obvious pleasure at my closeness. It didn't stop him from drawing a hand up and down the center of my back as he spoke.

I murmured in assent, toying with the buttons on his shirt.

"You can't act up like that again, Kurt. I—" he stifled a gasp as I stroked my palm across his stomach, "—I won't be so... so lenient. Next time." Blaine grabbed my hand, pulling it away from his chest. "Stop that," he said, aggrieved at having to halt my touch.

"Sorry," I said innocently. "May I please go lie down?" I drew back away from him and gave him a sad look, one that usually even worked on the cranky old housekeeper when I was pushing my luck with her.

"Are you sore?" Blaine asked, letting go of my hand.

Sheepish, I nodded. I couldn't be sure that it was the right move to admit it or not. He might count it as being part of my punishment, but he seemed to think himself the compassionate sort. I was hedging my bets; if I admitted that I felt sore from standing in the corner, he might just take pity on me.

"Cold, too," I admitted when he looked unsure whether to grant my request or not.

Slowly nodding at my confession, Blaine nodded over towards the window.

"Come on," he said, pushing me in that direction by my shoulders. He led me back to my window and pushed the pillows around it against the glass, leaving two at one end for me to rest my head on. "Up you get," he said, applying pressure to the space between my shoulder blades.

I had hoped he would let me go back to his room to curl up in bed, but the window seat was big and had certainly been quite comfortable to sit on earlier. Swallowing my disappointment, I crawled up onto the ledge and stretched my legs out. I rolled onto my side and breathed a sigh of relief at the feeling of pain subsiding.

Wanting the blanket, I flung out my arm to try and find it without having to turn over to see it, but Blaine beat me to it. I hadn't realized I'd been half lying on it. He tugged it out from under me and, for a second, I thought he was going to tuck me in.

Instead, he dropped the blanket on top of me and gave me a strange look.

"Don't fall asleep," he said, then turned away from me. "You still need to be fitted and then we'll have lunch." Blaine pulled a watch from his pocket and checked it. "There might be time for you to take a nap later if you need to, but today is going to be a busy day."

My tired limbs fought with the blanket, trying to untangle the mess of it lying across my hip. Eventually, I had it stretched out across my body, tucked under my feet to warm them.

It was a struggle to stay awake. I was warm and cozy, the cushioning under me plush and comfortable. I wasn't sure if I had nodded off or not, but if I had, then it was a very light sleep.

I was instantly alert and aware when someone knocked on the door and then entered the study. It was a maid, young and with an earnest face. She spoke with Blaine for a moment, then made her exit without ever looking at me once.

I was used to being invisible.

It just never seemed to hurt any less.

I sat up, not wanting to push down the warm blanket, but not wanting Blaine to catch me sleeping after I had been told not to. Because, according to the position of the sun, I had not been lying there for half an hour trying not to doze.

I surreptitiously wiped the sleep from my eyes, but by the smirk on Blaine's face when he came over to me moments later, he knew I'd not done as he asked. I looked away from him – not down, but away – unsure if he would be angry with me. I didn't especially care about doing what he wanted, but disobeying him right after finishing up a punishment wasn't exactly smart, either.

"Come on," he said with a smile. I guessed he was in a good mood. "Time to get your measurements taken."

My stomach rumbled, loud enough for us both to hear it. I'd been given some soup last night and some bread this morning, but it had been too long since I'd had something more substantial, and I was _hungry_.

Blaine's smile grew wider. "And we'll lunch afterwards."

I hoped he didn't think that Faeries were delicate eaters, dining on dewdrops and sunshine or some other nonsense. I'd heard dumber things in my days, even from people who had seen me eating regular, hearty fare. With any luck he wouldn't count another crust of bread as a substantial enough meal for his pet.

I disentangled my legs from the blanket and stood, unprepared for Blaine to take my hand.

He squeezed my hand, then turned, dragging me along behind him. The only thing that kept me going was the belief that eventually I would have some clothes that fit me properly, and that I was going to be fed.

I ignored the way my heart beat a little faster when he held my hand, ignored the butterflies in my stomach when he looked back at me with the stupid smile on his face.

I was just hungry, that was all there was to it.

Nothing more.

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((I just want to take a moment to thank everyone leaving reviews/comments on this story. I appreciate it so much. This is for you. :D ))


	5. Things Begin to Take Root

**Title:** Put Your Hands on Me (_and magic sparks_)  
**Pairing:** Blaine/Kurt  
**Full Summary:** AU. Faeries exist, but are a rarity. Slavery, and more specifically, sexual slavery, is a way of life for many people. || When a boy is lucky enough to get his hands on a half-Faerie boy in an auction, he ends up falling too deep into something he doesn't understand. / When a half-Faerie boy is unlucky enough to be sold off in an auction to an ignorant human boy, he is sucked into a life he never wanted and forced to deal with an aspect of his species he didn't know existed.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own the rights to any of these characters. I simply dabble in this toybox.

**Warnings/Contains:** Non-explicit rape. Explicit dub-con. Slavery/sexual slavery. Fantasy-genre alternate universe. Dark!fic. Magic. Non-human species. PoV switches. General creepiness on Blaine's behalf. A fucked up society. Ear!porn?

((There are some spoilery warnings, but if you need to read all warnings, there is a link to my livejournal on my profile page. The full warnings can be found there.))

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_four days ago_

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_The spirits must be playing a cruel joke on me._

That was the only explanation I could think of as I stood there, Blaine and the tailor discussing the different options for my new wardrobe.

My mother used to tell my sister and me all about the old Faerie spirits who would grant wishes and favors, or play tricks and jokes on you, depending on their temperament. They were often capricious, easily swayed between acting as both guardian and tormentor.

I obviously had a particularly fiendish spirit looking after me.

The fittings were a delirious mix of pleasure and torture. Standing there, being treated like a doll, treated like a _pampered pet_, was frustrating and demeaning. I felt like Blaine was enjoying this too much, dressing me up for his benefit. But the cuts of fabric were stylish and obscenely gorgeous, the materials being used were thick and luxurious and all so soft against my skin.

I'd had nicer things than most people in my position when I was growing up. Unwanted children, children who were all too often sold off to traders for training rather than take up time and space, were lucky to be given cast-offs. Brih'tt'ny and I always had nice clothes. Not necessarily expensive, but decently-made and meant to last a while.

I'd even gotten rather good at sewing and would alter my own clothes whenever I was close to growing out of them and given permission to do as I wished with what I had. I liked clothing, and it was fun for me to spend my spare time making outfits to look the way I wanted. It made me feel like I had control over something, and for me, control was something I had always had precious little of.

Our owner liked to show us off to any company he entertained. We were pretty, charming Faerie children who helped out around the house. We were there to make him look good, so _we_ had to look good to play our parts.

But I'd never had anything so beautiful, nothing so extravagant as the clothes Blaine wanted me to wear. Most of the items Blaine was ordering for me were already made, ready to be altered to fit me more exactly. Blaine said it was so that I would have appropriate clothing by the time he had to go back to school.

But some of the clothing was going to be made for me. Made specifically _for me_.

And Blaine kept adding to the order, asking for long, warm sweaters and heavy fabrics to keep me warm. I spent most of the experience stunned, or uncomfortable with being pulled at and prodded, limbs being tugged as though I were a mannequin.

Blaine even asked my opinion on some of the items I would be getting. I hadn't expected that. I hadn't expected that at all.

It didn't make me like him, but it was dangerously close to making me warm to him. A little. At least for that moment. It wasn't a feeling I liked in the least.

It also didn't help matters that, when asked my opinion on the fabrics, Blaine was content to have my new wardrobe all made from wool and cotton and linen and silk. Natural materials felt so much better against my skin that whatever atrocious man-made fabrics Blaine had me wearing that morning.

It grew hard for me to breathe with all of this attention, all this extravagance. It was too much. It was one thing to play at being the pampered pet to survive. I could do that. I could even allow myself to enjoy it a little. But it was another thing entirely to actually _become_ that pampered pet. And this felt like dangerously close territory to the latter.

"What do you think of the emerald velvet?" Blaine asked, holding up a fabric sample up to my chest, as if to see how it would look against my skin.

"It's lovely," I said, trying to speak through the lump in my throat. Velvet was gaudy and often garish when a such a vibrant color, of course, but it really was lovely. I reached up a hand to brush the fabric and it was soft and lush.

Blaine turned away from me to speak to the tailor. I tuned it out. Something about using velvet for a liner on some of the clothes he was having made for me.

The way he threw his family's money around, talked to people like it was inconceivable that he would not get what he wanted, it nauseated me. I didn't need to hear the specifics to understand his tone.

I wanted to get dressed and get warm. Blaine had, at least, had this all arranged to be done in a small room, cozy with warmth from the manor's heating system and a blazing fire in the hearth, but I still felt chilled. I was tired and sore and uncomfortable, and being miserable and hungry on top of that was proving to be more stressful than it normally would have been.

"I'm cold," I said, wrapping my arms across my chest. "Can I get dressed now?"

I was aware that I was whining, but Blaine didn't exactly incite fear and terror in me. Or, at least, not enough fear and terror to keep my mouth shut.

I didn't realize how much I feared his response until he looked on me with thinly veiled amusement, and I inhaled a breath of relief so sweet I felt lightheaded. I wanted to sit down.

"Andrews?" Blaine said to the tailor, and the nervous man, who had been less than cautious while touching me to take his measurements, nodded.

"Oh, yes, I'm quite done. Quite." The man's eyes were wide and buggy. Were I less concerned with my own discomfort, I might have felt more derision towards him for the way he groveled pathetically around Blaine, or disgust over the way he let his hands lay on my body longer than necessary during the measurements.

The man had left me to stand near-naked for at least a quarter of an hour after he finished measuring me, just so he could continue to take in his fill of the sight of me. I'd had enough of being treated like an object, there purely for others' gratification. Blaine had either not noticed or not cared at Mr. Andrews' lingering touches, and didn't seem to find anything wrong with leaving me half naked to catch a chill.

I was too weary at this point to kick up a fuss. I simply wanted to put my clothes— or, rather, Blaine's cast-offs— back on and give myself a chance to warm up.

Blaine put a hand between my shoulder blades and I jumped in surprise. I hadn't expected him to reach out to me. I looked at him and noticed he looked surprised as well.

"You're freezing," he said in what I might have imagined to be a guilty tone. I don't know what's worse. Him actually feeling guilty about my discomfort, or wanting badly enough for him to feel guilty that I _imagined_ it. "Get dressed and sit down by the fire. We'll still be a while."

I picked my discarded clothes up from the back of a chair and pulled them on, shivering at the feel of my chilled skin being covered by even colder clothing. I took solace in the fact that at least I could now sit by a fire and give myself a chance to warm up.

But as soon as I began to lower myself into an armchair near the fire, I heard Blaine speak up in an angry tone I didn't want to hear aimed at me.

"Kurt," he said. He gave me a dark look, and I stood right back up at the expression on his face. I was confused. Until I realized what his problem was.

"Sorry," I mumbled, stepping away from the furniture.

I felt tears prick at my eyes, but I told myself it was the heat of the flame as I sat down on the floor in front of the fireplace. It wasn't hurt, or shame.

It was the smoke.

I didn't concern myself with anything that Blaine and the tailor were discussing after that. My marginally-good mood had evaporated. It didn't matter how nice the clothes Blaine was getting me were. It wasn't a fair trade-off for my new life.

It wasn't a fair trade-off for being treated like I was no better than a dirty mutt trying to jump up on the furniture.

I was homesick and heartsick, and I knew it was only going to get worse. I dreaded the afternoon meal. Would I be allowed at the table, or would Blaine try to feed me at his feet? Worse yet: would he expect me to eat off the floor?

I was Faerie, not some sort of filthy animal, kept to chase away intruders and warm the foot of his bed.

I spent the first several years of my life living outdoors, sleeping in the dirt, or in small caves when we found them to take shelter in. I slept in a pile with my sister and mother, the three of us bundled up close to conserve our body heat and share our combined warmth. I never felt like an animal while foraging for food in a forest or stealing vegetables from a farmer's garden. I felt like a hungry little boy, helping his family bring in something to eat.

Blaine managed to make me feel reduced to a dumb beast while living in an opulent manor, myself freshly bathed and in clean clothing, with only a single word uttered from his lips.

It wasn't even my name. I _had_ a name. My mother gave me my name and every time Blaine used that horribly mangled version of it, I felt my heart break a little more. It felt like a betrayal to _her_ more than a betrayal to my Faerie heritage, but I knew in her eyes it should have been the other way around.

I didn't have many memories of my mother left. Most of what I could remember was the stories she used to tell Brih'tt'ny and me. Later on, my sister and I would tell each other the same stories she used to send us to sleep with, taking turns refreshing the tales in our minds.

I couldn't remember what my mother looked like except for a few small details. She was tall, and her hair was long, down past her waist, and as fair as my sister's. I can remember the three of us hiding in a stranger's barn— at that age, Brih'tt'ny and I thought it was a game— and our mother would let me play with her hair to keep me occupied. I would sit there for hours, combing her silken tresses through my fingers, braiding it, and listening to her stories of the Folk.

She told us there were very important rules for Faeries to observe, and I had always been sure to keep them fresh in my memory.

Firstly, keep your name sacred. A Faerie's name has meaning and power. Never allow someone to take your name from you. A Faerie without their name is no Faerie.

That was the most important rule, she said. For humans, names were given and taken and changed with little thought or reason for it. For the fae, you were gifted with a name at birth, a name with meaning, and you kept that name your entire life. Humans looked at names like decoration. For Faeries, it was a piece of the soul and part of our hearts.

The second rule, she said, was to respect the spirits. Faerie spirits may cause trouble and mischief, but they are the spirits of your ancestors and they are to be revered. Never forget that they may be your salvation or your undoing, depending on their whims.

She told me that a Faerie spirit is much more likely to come to your aid if you respect them. And, whenever possible, leave out an offering to thank or appease them. Cream or milk is best, butter will do, and soft bread will work in a pinch. But never leave out bread that's gone stale or hard, unless you're looking for bad luck to follow you.

There was also something in her lessons about never falling in love with a human. But as I grew older and realized _why_ we had always been hiding away from people, I took that more as a life-lesson. Don't trust your heart to a human: no good can come of it.

Well. There was no chance of that happening to me.

Even though Brih'tt'ny and I brought our mother suffering simply by existing, I always clung to the idea that our parents had loved each other. I always clung to the idea that we weren't something forced upon her, that she loved our father, whoever he might have been.

The thought of my mother in the same situation as myself, or worse, was abhorrent. She had cared for my sister and me; she had loved us fiercely. No matter how young I had been, perhaps four or five, I would always remember the smell of her hair when she held us to her chest, hugging us goodbye before she left us. I still can't remember what she looked like, but I can remember her tears as she kissed our faces and reminded Brih'tt'ny and me to remember all she'd told us, and to be good to each other.

I never did learn what happened to her. I always imagined that she left us somewhere she thought we would be safe and managed to run away, back to where she'd grown up. I clung to the hope that she was with her family, other Faeries, safe and sheltered from the rest of the world.

I was old enough now to know better. In all likelihood, she had dropped us at the first place she thought we would have a chance and ran, only to be caught by slave traders, or caught by whoever owned her before she made her escape. Because, realistically, there was no reason for a Faerie to ever be this far north unless they were a slave. There was no reason for a Faerie to ever stray far enough from home to run into humans. She had to have been a runaway. I didn't want to believe it, but there wasn't any other satisfactory explanation I could think of.

She probably realized she was pregnant and ran away from whoever had kept her. She never stopped running. I can't remember ever _not_ running and hiding away from humans when we were still together.

It was doubtful I'd ever know for sure what happened to her, if she was even still alive, but I liked to think she was somewhere safe, somewhere she could be happy.

It didn't matter how unrealistic that thought, that _hope_ was, I still clung to it with all I had. I had to.

She was my _mother_.

I sat there for a while, ignoring Blaine's plans for my extravagant wardrobe, barely caring enough to wonder what his parents felt about him sparing no expense to clothe me in fancy garb.

I basked in the soothing heat of the fire, determined to enjoy every second I had in front of the flames. It didn't matter that I was sitting on the floor, or that I had some stupid boy I'd only met the other day making all these decisions for my life like I wasn't my own person. It wasn't worth it to care at the moment.

I didn't want to think anymore. I wanted a chance to rest.

Unfortunately, I didn't get my wish.

"I think we're done here," I heard Blaine say to the other man. I turned my head to watch them shuffle papers together, the tailor pinning sheets together on a small board.

"My assistant will be collecting the rest of my materials," he said, putting his paperwork into a small leather satchel.

"That won't be a problem," Blaine said, going to the double doors and opening them wide, gesturing for the man to leave, a pleasant expression his face. "Do you need someone to show you to my mother's office?"

"Oh, no, young man. I know how to get there on my own. Once she signs off on the expenses, my boys will get right to work on the fittings for your new pet." Mr. Andrews' parting smile was likely meant to be cordial and professional, but it came across as perfectly creepy.

I was just glad his focus wasn't on me any longer.

Blaine shut the door behind the man, false charm and smile disappearing. He sighed and walked over to the armchair I had attempted to sit in earlier, lowering himself into its soft comfort.

"That man," he said, disgust ringing in his voice. "If he wasn't so disgustingly creepy, I'd suspect he and my mother were having an affair." Blaine laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant one. "I wish we could use someone else for our tailoring, but my mother insists we only deal with Andrews. Apparently his work is _divine_." Blaine spoke like he was quoting his mother. "Thankfully, I think the affair is just between her and the gowns he designs for her."

Why was he telling me this? I hugged my knees to my chest and stared, carefully keeping my face blank. It wasn't as if I cared what his mother did, and I didn't see why he thought I should care.

"Come here," he said, lifting up and arm in my direction.

Keeping the frown that wanted to settle itself on my face at bay, I stood and walked over. I was swept off my feet immediately, not at all expecting him to grab at me the way he did, tugging me down into his lap.

I fell into him, instinctively grabbing the first thing I could get my hands on to steady myself. Which was, of course, _Blaine_. I found myself clinging to his shoulder and arm, and the look on his face was pure pleasure at my perceived grabbiness.

He arranged me across his lap to his liking, manipulating my body like I was a doll, limbs stiff, but moveable, until I was sitting sideways on the armchair. My knees were bent, pressed against the armrest and my feet dangling over the side of the chair.

I ignored the way he brushed my hair back and pressed a kiss to my cheek. I didn't want his affection. Especially right now.

"Your hair's still too long," he mused, running his fingers through it as he spoke. I turned my head to him sharply when he said this.

"Don't cut it again," I said, my distress clear.

I was so upset at the thought of even more of my hair being cut off that I didn't even react to the way he laughed at me when I said it.

"You don't like it short?" he said. "But it's always in your eyes."

"It wouldn't be a problem if I could have something with which to style it," I said, desperate not to have him cut my hair yet again. It was already far too short. I missed the comforting feel of it on my neck, my shoulders. I missed the weight of it.

I missed my braids, and the way my sister and I would sit together, her fingers moving through my hair to pull it back and tie it in place.

"Would that make you happy?" Blaine asked me, looking thoughtful.

I held my breath at his question. I stared at him, aware I must have looked odd: eyes wide and neck stretched out in surprise.

"It would be nice to be able to do something with my hair," I said with caution. "And something more than just bath soap for my skin. It's very sensitive."

I made a mistake in my word choice, because Blaine smirked, moving a hand to the side of my face and stroking right under my ear.

"I noticed." His fingers trailed down lower, stroking the long line of my neck, down to the collar of the shirt I wore.

I looked away, my lips pursed to keep from telling him to stop touching me. His touch made me uncomfortable. Something so wrong shouldn't feel so nice.

We sat there in silence for at least a few minutes longer, Blaine's fingers stroking through my hair, or touching my neck and jawline, his eyes focused intently on my face.

He ran his thumbs over my eyebrows, stroking the thin hair down flat. He touched my nose, tracing its outline and nearly causing me to sneeze from the way the feather-light caress tickled. Two of his fingers drifted over my mouth, dragging down my bottom lip enough for him to lean in and take it between his teeth.

I wasn't surprised in the least when he stopped tugging and let go of my lip, his own mouth crushing into mine for a kiss. His fingers moved from my face down into my hair, cupping the back of my head with his hand.

I decided the best course of action was to sit there passively, allowing him to do what he wished with my mouth. The thought of biting down and running away from him drifted through my mind momentarily, but I didn't want to incite his ire, or give him cause to punish me again.

I doubted it would be something as mild as standing in the corner again.

Thankfully, he was interrupted by a loud noise. My hunger was making itself known.

Blaine pulled back and stared down at my stomach, amusement rich in his expression.

"I suppose we should head down for something to eat. Your stomach sounds ready to start digesting itself," Blaine teased me.

I scowled at him without thinking.

He ignored it, prodding me to stand up. He ran his fingers through my hair, fixing the mess he'd just made. I hated his constant touches, the numerous kisses, the feel of him fixing my clothes and hair after he'd mussed them.

Blaine took me by the hand, like I was a child who would wander off and get lost the first chance I had. I tried to pull my hand back, but his grip was secure, and he wasn't going to give me a chance to get away from him. I sighed, resigned, and followed him out the room and down into the hall.

For the first time, I took note of my surroundings. Earlier, I was too tired and sore, or surly and upset, to care. I hadn't paid any attention to the details, aside from noticing that everything looked disgustingly expensive.

Somehow, whoever designed the manor managed to do so without also making it look gaudy. I hated to admit, even to myself, that I was impressed.

"You actually _live_ here?" I didn't even consider how that might have sounded out loud.

Blaine's family home was astoundingly beautiful. The floors were cut from marble, the ceilings were high and curved, and there were a multitude of paintings and tapestries in every hallway. The windows had colored glass in different shapes filling the space. They were like paintings made of glass. I'd never seen something like that before. It was gorgeous.

This kind of wealth was something I'd never imagined I would ever see. It was something you read about in storybooks, not somewhere people actually lived.

Blaine laughed at my question, despite how obviously rhetorical it had been. It wasn't necessarily a _cruel_ laugh, but it wasn't particularly kind, either.

"This manor has been in the Anderson family for six generations," he told me, his voice sounding increasingly pompous with each word.

I was not so impressed.

Well, maybe I was. A little. But, if the rumors were to be believed, Faeries have held onto their ancestral land for maybe thousands of years. One home on one plot of land sitting on a family line for six generations held in comparison to Faerie tradition was _laughable_.

But that was all rumors and hearsay, things humans said to each other to fantasize over how wild and exotic the fae were. There was no way to know if there was any truth in the stories.

"Only six?" I said, in the most disdainful tone I could muster.

"Only six," Blaine confirmed, smirking in my direction. "It's relatively new. There's a castle we hold rights to that dates back at least a thousand years, but one of my distant relatives decided it was a bit ostentatious to still be living in a castle in his day and age. The family keeps it renovated, purely for the sake of appearances, but no one actually lives there."

"Oh." I didn't know how to respond to that.

I did know, however, that I was sick of Blaine always getting the upper hand over me.

Blaine smiled brightly. "So, if we're done with the history lesson, can I interest you in luncheon?"

I knew I was in for a miserable meal as soon as Blaine led me into a dining room. There was a single place set at the table, and a flat pillow on the floor beside it. I was ready to dig my heels in and refuse to move another step, but I was so hungry, and the food on the table smelled so good.

I shot Blaine a pleading look, which he ignored outright.

I knelt down on the pillow before he could tell me to sit like the dog he clearly equated me with. He looked entirely too pleased at the sight of me on my knees without having to say a word, but I set my jaw and looked towards the back wall, not at him.

I ignored him while he sat and shook out his napkin and lifted the cover from his plate. I ignored him as he poured himself a drink, and while he began cutting up his food. I even ignored him when he started to eat.

Valiantly, I _attempted_ to ignore him when he lowered a bite of food down for me between his fingers. But Blaine was patient, and I was so very hungry.

I thought about biting his fingers, but the last thing I wanted was for him to decide I didn't need to eat after all. So, instead, I reached up and plucked the morsel from his fingers, deciding to eat from my own hand.

"Kurt," he admonished, looking down on me with displeasure.

I stared up at him plaintively. The way he looked at me in discomfort made me think that perhaps I would win this battle, but his lips thinned and he lowered another bite, this time pressing it to my lips.

"You can eat it like this, or you can go hungry," he told me.

I dared a glare at him, but I took the food, careful not to touch his fingers with my mouth at all as I accepted the food he was giving me.

Apparently mollified, Blaine turned back to his plate and went back to eating, stopping every few mouthfuls to feed me a few bite-sized pieces of meat, or tomato, and even a little of the cheese he had with the meal.

He was fair with sharing the meat he had, but a little heavy handed with tomatoes and stingy with the cheese. If he had been anyone else, I might have found his eating habits endearing, but Blaine could fall to pieces over a small, fluffy animal and I would sooner hope it gave him fleas than find him sweet.

He didn't let me eat on my own, but he did pour me a glass of water and allowed me to hold it for myself while we ate. I was dearly tempted to stand up and pour it over his head, but that would only calm my irritation with him for a fraction of a second, and the consequences weren't worth entertaining the idea for even that long.

At least no one else was there to witness my humiliation. It was bad enough that it had to happen. At least there was no one around to see it.

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Dinner was much worse.

Blaine's parents were there, asking about his day, the fittings, whether or not he was done with his homework. His break was almost over, and would be returning to his stuffy boarding school in a few days.

I was dreading that. The thought of being surrounded by dozens of other stupid human boys, gawking at me, making this entire situation all the more embarrassing. I didn't want even more people to see what a shameful state I'd ended up in.

And if that wasn't horrifying enough, Blaine's father wanted to _inspect_ me.

That had caused a minor argument which, thankfully, Blaine won, and I kept my place by his feet. The silence in the room after that was uncomfortable, even for me, until Blaine's mother chimed in to talk about how she spent the afternoon with some friends of the family, which had perked Blaine's interest, but reduced mine down to nothing.

Bored, as Blaine had long ago stopped feeding me his table scraps, and above begging for more, I let out a little sigh without thinking about it.

The room went silent in a heartbeat, and Blaine stared down at me. I had the feeling that if his parents could see me, they'd be staring at me in disapproval, too.

"Sorry about that," Blaine said, wiping his mouth with his napkin and setting it down on the table. "He's never been trained." I felt my face warm up as he made his excuses for me, embarrassed by the attention on me for something as simple as a sigh.

"Perhaps we should send him off for some training," his mother said.

In that moment, it felt like my heart stopped with terror. I looked up at Blaine, relieved to see his mouth set firmly in displeasure.

"No. He's learning on his own." Blaine looked down at me and, seeing my eyes wide in fright, he ran a hand through my hair, petting me like he was placating a nervous dog. "He's a good pet; he just needs the rough edges smoothed out a little."

I was pathetically grateful that Blaine had been too sidetracked to keep up with passing me food, because I felt sick to my stomach. It was an effort just to keep what little I'd eaten down.

"I don't know, sweetheart," his mother said. "I don't want him to embarrass you in public."

"Mother, it's _fine_," Blaine protested. "I mean it."

Blaine stood, clearly agitated, and pushed his chair in. I stayed kneeling until he offered a hand out to me. I grabbed his hand like a lifeline and rose to my feet, keeping my eyes to the floor. The last thing I wanted was to give the woman any more excuse to send me off to a training center.

I'd heard so many horror stories about training schools for _pets_. I'd rather die than be sent off to one.

Blaine? Blaine was horrible. Blaine was the cause of most of my problems in life. Blaine made me completely and utterly miserable, and if I could get free, I'd be out of here and as far away from him as possible.

But so far, Blaine hadn't beaten me. He hadn't starved me. And as terrible as this morning had been, I spent the night sleeping in a bed, and had a steaming bath to wash myself in.

I wouldn't wish my current situation on anybody. But I wasn't naïve enough to think that it couldn't be a lot worse. I was aware that I had it lucky compared to others in my situation.

"We'll talk about this later," his mother said. His father was still eating his dinner by the sound of it, not interrupting either of them to take a side in the disagreement. I didn't dare chance a glance up to see his face, see who he sided more with based on what sort of expression he had.

"No, we won't." Blaine led me out of the dining room, dragging me along behind him, his stride longer than I would have expected for his height, and moving quickly through the manor's numerous halls and stairways towards his room.

It wasn't until we were in his bedroom, the door shut behind us, that I allowed my fear to show at all.

"May I use the bathroom?" I whispered, taking the effort to keep my voice steady. Blaine pointed wordlessly to the adjacent room, his frustration with his mother clearly written across his face.

I made it in time to empty my stomach of all its contents into a toilet bowl. Harsh, ragged gasps ripped their way out of my chest as I knelt there, hitting the flush so I wouldn't have to look at it and trigger my gag reflex again. I had tears in my eyes; I could feel them there, but I wasn't sure if it was from how upset I was, or from the physical exertion of being sick.

I knelt there for a few minutes longer, waiting until my stomach ceased contracting painfully, trying to expel what little might have been left inside of me. I didn't want to stand up, only to fall back down so as not to be sick all over the floor.

"Kurt?" Blaine asked, opening the bathroom door.

"I'll be out in a minute!" I called, stumbling to the sink to rinse out my mouth, wipe down my face. I ran the water, and brought some up to my mouth, swishing it around to clear out the taste. I found a bottle of mouthwash in a cupboard and used that as well.

Just as I was spitting out a final round of water to wash away the harsh chemical taste in my mouth, Blaine ran out of patience and walked into the bathroom. He paused only a few feet away from me.

The room definitely smelled like sick, I thought. Either that, or it had somehow gotten into my nose. The smell of it was heavy in the air. It wasn't until Blaine turned me around and started to peel me out of the shirt I was wearing that I realize in my haste, I had ended up with vomit on my clothing.

Just knowing that I'd been standing around with it _on me_ almost got me started up again, but thankfully only almost. I felt myself gag, but it was tolerable, and I was able to push it down and distance myself from the thought of wearing throw-up.

I wrapped my arms across my chest, immediately feeling the cold without a shirt on.

Blaine ran the shirt under the water in the sink to rinse it off, then tossed the filthy garment into a hamper. He grabbed a washing cloth and ran it under the cool water before turning off the tap. Blaine rung out the excess water and came over to me, pressing the cold cloth to my cheeks, then the back of my neck.

My body felt cold, but my face was warm from being so violently sick, and the cloth felt comforting. He stood there with me, gently tending to me until the cloth lost its cool, and then tossed it into the sink's basin.

Blaine turned back to me and lowered his hands, resting them on my hips, stroking my exposed skin with his thumbs.

"I'm not going to let anyone take you away from me," he said, staring up into my eyes. "You're _mine_."

I shivered, his words not doing anything to make me feel any better. Instead, I only felt worse.

He led me back into the bedroom and pushed me down onto the bed. He wasn't rough, but rather forceful. He had me on my back and in the center of the bed in seconds.

Tonight had been horrible, and my stomach was doing somersaults. I didn't want him touching me again. I wanted to curl up and go to sleep. I wanted to go home and have my sister brush my hair and tell me that in the morning, everything was going to be okay again. I wanted to go down to the stables and help take care of the horses and spend some time with the kind stable master. I wanted to unwind in the library with a good book and a heavy blanket.

"Please," I said, squirming with displeasure as Blaine kissed his way across my shoulders, his fingers toying with the waistband of the pants I wore. "I still don't feel well."

Blaine hushed me, then pressed his mouth to mine.

"I'll make you feel better," he told me.

I didn't believe him for a second.

He finished undressing me, and then pulled off his own clothes, tossing them all to the floor.

"Someone will collect them in the morning," he said in my ear when I tried to complain, his mouth breathing hotly against my sensitive flesh before biting down on the point. He worried at my skin with his teeth, tugging and pulling at my ear.

I cried out, unable to hold the sound in, and my hips jerked up off the bed at the terrible, amazing feeling of him abusing my ear with his mouth. He kissed around the back of my ear, then used his tongue to lick at where he'd made sore with his teeth, soothing the pain.

I was aroused, painfully so, and he was content to lie atop me, grinding down with his own heavy erection, pressing it into mine.

"No," I said, pushing up at his chest ineffectively. My arms were weak, seemingly not wanting to move him off of my body. My limbs didn't want to cooperate. His mouth was pulling these embarrassing noises from me, and I couldn't think straight.

When he grabbed something out from under the pillow, I didn't have the ability to think about what it might be.

I was losing my mind. At least, that's what it felt like.

It only got worse when he switched ears, moving over to the other side of my face.

It didn't register that his hands weren't on me, that he wasn't preparing me the way he'd done so that morning. Thinking straight wasn't an option. Thinking _at all_ wasn't even on the table.

I was breathing heavily when he finally pulled back, the expression on his face smug and self-satisfied. We were both hard at this point, and when he wrapped a cool hand around me, covered in a slick substance, I had no idea what he was doing.

"You were such a good boy this afternoon," he said as he released me, rising up on his knees over my body. "I like to reward good behavior."

I had no idea what he was talking about, his meaning unclear to me until he grabbed a hold of my hardness from behind his body, and lowered himself onto me.

"Stop. _Stop_, please don't do this."

He thought he was rewarding me. In truth, this felt so much worse than what he did before.

There was no pain. Only pleasure. It felt _too_ good. My body wanted to thrust up into the tight, slick heat that surrounded me, but at the same time, I didn't want anything to do with this.

It would have been better if he'd rolled me over and just used my body, treating me like an empty hole for him to use in his boredom. But this? He thought he was _rewarding_ me. Doing me a favor. He was acting like I wanted this.

I hated him in that instant. I hated him more than I'd ever hated him before, for anything he'd done. More than for being ripped away from my sister. More than for the way he acted like I wasn't even a person. Even more than for the way he treated me as his plaything.

He was so oblivious to how much I detested him that it only made me hate him more.

I knew I was crying. I knew that my face must have looked a wreck and I had to have been blotchy and snotty from tears. But he didn't care.

He didn't care about me at all. He thought he did, but he didn't.

It was a relief when I found my release, my body unable to take the sensation of his body so impossibly tight around me any longer. I softened, and he was forced to pull up off of me.

He didn't even look disappointed. He leaned over me, still using his hand to bring himself off, and, ignoring my tears and the way I shook from crying, he released over my chest. He made loud, unattractive noises as he hit his peak, grunting out in pleasure as he milked out all he had left inside.

Limp with pleasure and sated, he dropped down beside me and kissed my neck, peppering my skin with little touches of his lips. His hand went to my chest, my belly, and rubbed the mess he'd made in circles, getting it all over me.

I wanted to be sickened by it, to roll over and gag, but for some reason, there was no revulsion.

I _wanted_ to be disgusted, repelled by him. But, sickeningly, somewhere deep inside of me, I felt pleasure at the way he rubbed himself into my skin. I felt happy, like an overgrown cat with a good post to rub its face against, or like a dog with the perfect spot of ground to grind his back into to get to that one itch.

Breath still on the harsh side, Blaine leaned up on one arm and grinned at me, beaming brightly. I couldn't work out why, until I became conscious of the fact that I was smiling. Worse than that, I felt a happy hum working its way up through my throat.

I stopped, immediately, and scowled at him. He only smiled brighter at my disdainful expression.

"You should get some sleep," he said, sounding smug and far too satisfied with himself. "You have a big day tomorrow."

He wouldn't tell me any more than that.

Blaine was asleep, snoring softly against me, long before sleep found me. I was too distracted by how _right_ it felt when he touched me after, and how utterly _wrong_ it was.

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I apologize for the long wait. This was a particularly difficult chapter to write, and this story is so dark that I have to be in a particular mindset to write for it anyway. In the end, it's much longer than any other chapter. I just want to thank you for keeping with it. PYHOM will probably be about 10 chapters long. Then there should be 1 to 3 one-shots related to the story, and then, if all goes correctly, a sequel. :)

The response to this story has been outstanding, and I want you to know I appreciate every single review. _Especially_ from those of you who tell me what you like best about it, or what does/doesn't work for you. This story is for you.

And a big thank you to everyone watching/following/fave'ing this fic. Thank you so much!


	6. Preparations

**Title:** Put Your Hands on Me (_and magic sparks_)  
**Pairing:** Blaine/Kurt  
**Full Summary:** AU. Faeries exist, but are a rarity. Slavery, and more specifically, sexual slavery, is a way of life for many people. || When a boy is lucky enough to get his hands on a half-Faerie boy in an auction, he ends up falling too deep into something he doesn't understand. / When a half-Faerie boy is unlucky enough to be sold off in an auction to an ignorant human boy, he is sucked into a life he never wanted and forced to deal with an aspect of his species he didn't know existed.  
**Disclaimer:**I don't own the rights to any of these characters. I simply dabble in this toybox.

**Warnings/Contains:**Non-explicit rape. Explicit dub-con. Slavery/sexual slavery. Fantasy-genre alternate universe. Dark!fic. Magic. Non-human species. PoV switches. General creepiness on Blaine's behalf. A fucked up society. Ear!porn?

((There are some spoilery warnings, but if you need to read all warnings, there is a link to my livejournal on my profile page. The full warnings can be found there.))

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**Notes:** This was supposed to be chapter seven. It has been finished for two weeks. Chapter six, on the other hand, is only about 3/4 of the way done, and doesn't want to be finished. Chapter six was _supposed_ to be up before the hiatus was over. That obviously didn't pan out as planned.

Since these two chapters take place in different timelines, I'm sucking up the fact that my whiny inner perfectionist is going, _but it doesn't flow as well!_ and I'm posting this as chapter six instead. Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon since most of it is written already. Sorry about the long wait.

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_three days ago_

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The first thing that came to my mind when I awoke was, _I overslept_.

The sun was streaming into the room at such an angle that it was shining directly on my face. It was late in the morning. Or, at least, later than I normally woke up in a morning.

I soon rolled over to get the sun out of my eyes when I realized that it didn't matter. I didn't oversleep, because I had nothing to be awake for. Slowly sitting up, I looked around the room. The bed was empty, with no warmth left from where Blaine had slept on the other side.

Before falling asleep, I had moved as close to the edge of the bed as I could get without falling off. It was easier to sleep when he didn't touch me. But then I had been woken up a little later to the sensation of being pulled across the sheets. Blaine must have woken up. He maneuvered me a little farther onto the bed. Then, to my complete surprise, tucked the blankets up around me and kissed my forehead.

I had pretended to continue to be asleep, but he sat up by me, stroking my hair for several minutes. Then he kissed me on the cheek and pulled away to lie down on the other side of the bed. He didn't crowd me, or touch me any further. When I finally chanced rolling over to look at him, he was fast asleep, with at least a foot of space between our bodies.

Something inside me had unclenched, unwound, and it was so much easier to relax enough to fall into a deep sleep. I was no longer afraid of twitching and falling off the side of the bed, and I wasn't focused on his unwanted touch or presence. I could, at that moment, close my eyes and pretend I was alone, sleeping in a bed by myself. I could ignore the sound of his breathing or the occasional shifting of the mattress as he moved in his sleep.

It was nice to be able to just lie there and not feel nervous or on edge for a time. It was with that I was able to drift off.

I didn't expect to sleep for nearly as long as I did. And I still felt tired.

It was an effort to force myself out of the warm comforting nest of blankets, but, yawning deeply, I decided it would probably be necessary to get out of bed soon. I sat up, drawing them up around my frame.

I wondered where Blaine was. It was nice to be apart from him, but it didn't mean I couldn't be curious. At first, I didn't notice anything out of place, but a second look proved me wrong. On top of a little writing desk was a silver tray— something I knew hadn't been there last night.

I had to make a choice. Stay warm and covered up in bed while the mystery of the tray gnawed at me, or brave the chilly air on my bare skin and find out what was under the lid.

Giving into my curiosity, not exactly a novel behavior to me, I crawled my way out of the pile of blankets and crossed the room on the tips of my feet, not liking the feel of the cold floor. I looked around, but the only thing out of place really was the tray.

There was no note, so I decided to be industrious and lifted the cover. It seemed someone had left me my breakfast. There was that, at least; I wouldn't go hungry. There was an assortment of different foods laid out: hardboiled eggs, a small vine of green grapes, some kind of cheese cut up into small slices, and two slices of a soft, dark bread. There wasn't any cutlery. It was all food to be eaten with one's hands.

I was marginally surprised by the fact that beside the tray there was also a pitcher of water and a glass. No one was worried I would break the glass? Drop it carelessly? Use the shards to cause myself harm or hurt someone else? Obviously I couldn't be trusted with anything else. Did they think I would stab myself, were I to be given a _fork_? Or attempt to go after Blaine with it? I rolled my eyes at the thought.

Or was this just one more way of pointing out that I had no worth as a person in their eyes? People ate with forks and spoons and knives. Whereas I should sit cold and naked on the floor and eat with my hands like some sort of dumb beast?

Well, Blaine could forget about that.

I picked up the tray and took it to bed with me, arranging the blankets around me to my satisfaction. As soon as I was cozy and comfortable, I went to work on my breakfast.

"Kurt."

I'm not too proud to admit that I was disappointed when Blaine entered the room whilst I was mid-meal, him smiling at the sight of me still in bed, rather than angry. I expected him to order me to the floor, not great me warmly.

"Oh, good. You're up. And you found your breakfast."

I didn't say anything, watching him through narrowed eyes as he came over to sit on the edge of the bed. Blaine reaching over to my tray to pick up a grape and pressed it to my lips.

I stiffened, ready to protest, or be angry, but last night's dinner had left me wary of refusing him. I let him feed it to me without a fight, and he looked overjoyed by it.

"You're in a good mood today," he mused, plucking another grape from its vine. I shook my head in disagreement, but I didn't fight it, or argue.

I wasn't giving up, I told myself. I was taking a break. I think his lack of reaction to me eating in bed took the fight out of me, the wind leaving my metaphorical sails.

"No?" he said, a mock-sad quality to his voice. "Well maybe when you get up out of bed and into the bathroom to wash up, you'll be in better spirits."

My nose crinkled at the suggestion. Was this his way of telling me that I stank? I would have surreptitiously sniffed myself, but he was right in front of me and there was no way I could sneak it in without being caught. As soon as the thought finished crossing my mind, I felt embarrassed, even though he had no way of knowing what I was thinking.

Last night. Of course. Of _course_ I wanted to bathe after last night. My body was filthy. It was easy to ignore the clawing at the back of my brain that protested my disgust over last night's events. I didn't even know why part of me was determined to enjoy what happened. I didn't _want_to know.

I blamed my lapse on being too tired. Which I, in turn, attributed to sleeping far too long this morning. That could be blamed on how upset I was last night, and how Blaine had been determined to wear me down. So, really, it was all his fault, anyway.

I took what little solace I could in that conclusion.

"Use what you like from the bathroom. I've got things to do today that I can't have you dragging along behind me for, so I'm leaving you here for the day. You'll have to find a way to entertain yourself." Blaine picked up a piece of cheese and held it up for me as he continued. "I'll set out some clothes for you before I go."

I hesitated to say anything, because I was of the belief that it was better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, but I didn't want him to be angry with me if he caught me doing something I shouldn't be up to. And it wasn't just that I didn't want to be punished. For some bizarre reason, I didn't want him angry with me. Simple as that.

"Am I allowed to read your books?" I asked, unable to push down all of the hope I felt that he would say yes.

I hadn't seen too many books in Blaine's quarters, but there was a small and sturdy-looking bookcase on the far wall, filled with books. It was hard to tell in a room that was regularly cleaned, as there was no dust to judge by, but they certainly looked as though they got a decent amount of use.

Blaine looked unsure, frowning at me in response. "There's not many pictures in them," he said hesitantly.

"I _can read_!" I said, a good deal offended.

Blaine was clearly stunned. "Oh."

He really was shocked that I could read. I almost felt sorry for him, that something as simple as hearing that I could read could shake him. Almost.

"Well, as long as you take good care of them," he said with a half-hearted shrug, still bug-eyed, "then yes. Put them back where you find them when you're done."

I couldn't help myself. I smiled. I actually smiled at him, my hands clasping together in excitement.

His expression softened, his surprise lessening as he watched my exuberance manifest in a squirm. I regretted my actions when he put a hand around the back of my neck to pull down my head to reach his lips to my forehead. Then he put his hand under my chin and tilted my head far enough back to kiss my mouth.

He didn't deepen it or draw it out, but something about it caused a fiery warmth course through my veins.

"A servant will be by to drop off your lunch this afternoon." Blaine drew back, a soft smile on his lips. He ducked his head and fed me another grape. "Make sure you eat it all."

It took more willpower than it should have to stop me from sucking his finger into my mouth. In fact, it shouldn't have taken any willpower at all. That thought, that want, that _desire_should never have entered my mind at all. Not ever.

He didn't notice my inner struggle, nor my obvious discomfort. Or if he did, he didn't pay it any mind. Blaine got up off the bed and brushed his hands against each other, like he was trying to free them from nonexistent crumbs.

Blaine went to his closet to pull out clothing for me to wear again today. It didn't take him long. When he came back out, Blaine paused by a bedpost, setting the small stack of clothes at the foot of the bed.

"What?" I asked. He was staring at me intently enough to make me uncomfortable.

"Kurt, don't make me regret trusting you alone today." His tone suddenly wasn't quite so nice, so light. It wasn't mean, but it was cold and serious.

The warmth I felt was gone, replaced with ice.

"Behave yourself today. Stay in my rooms and don't cause any trouble. I think you know what's on the line if you can't control yourself."

I remembered his mother's words last night. The fact that she wanted to send me off for some proper training. The fact that his father hadn't objected to the idea, and would probably need only nominal persuading to agree to it.

I thought about the different ways Blaine could punish me if I stepped too far past the line, as I was likely to do one of these days. The fact that there might be other times he would need to leave me in his rooms for a time, and what he could do to me to ensure I didn't step a single toe out of line.

These thoughts worried me, but even worse were the thoughts of what I could get up to on my own, the fact that I might have the chance and the capability to end all my problems for good. It wouldn't take too much, I figured. But the thought of bleeding myself out disgusted me, and the thought of trying to rig a way to hang myself seemed too complex.

Worst of all, it was the thought of my mother's disapproving face, what she would have looked like if I were to seriously consider ending my life. The many ways it could go wrong if I even tried were too apparent, like the fact that anyone could walk in on me at any time, or that I could be unsuccessful. There was also the fact that being taken away from my sister was bad enough; I didn't need to make it any more permanent than it already was.

I nodded. "I'll behave," I said honestly.

Blaine cracked half a smile in my direction. "Good boy," he said.

He sounded so condescending that, even through my nerves, I felt a surge of irritation. Blaine came up to me and leaned in to kiss the top of my head, his fingers coming up to toy with my hair after. I couldn't entirely hold back a sneer, not that he seemed to notice.

"I'll see you later this afternoon." He smoothed my hair down, an amused glint bright in his eyes.

And he was gone, with the close of the door, and the deafening sound of the lock clicking.

Knowing I wasn't allowed to leave would have been stifling enough. But being physically locked into the room felt positively suffocating.

I hung my head in my hands, palms pressed to my cheeks and covering my eyes, willing myself to keep breathing evenly, telling myself that I wasn't going to leave anyway. I told myself that the door had probably been locked while I was eating my breakfast; this wasn't any different from then.

Surprisingly, that helped a little. At least enough for me to lift my head and stare down at the tray in front of me. I had eaten most of the food already. Figuring it would be a while until someone brought me my next meal, I decided to save the rest for later.

I got out of bed and brought the tray with me, deciding that I'd been lounging about for too long. I walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, then set the tray down on a small, nearby table.

I didn't even have to look around to notice that something was out of sorts in the room.

How could I have possibly been so tired as not to notice anyone bringing it in?

Against a wall, where there had once been a freestanding towel rack, was a vanity, its surface littered with a multitude of little glass jars and several bottles of various sizes. Cautiously, I walked over to it and looked it over. I couldn't hold back a pleased smile when I saw what everything was.

There were skin crèmes and lotions to one side, and hair products off to another. In the center sat a few fancy-looking bottles of colognes and perfumes. Ignoring my nakedness, I drew the bench out and perched atop it, opening the drawers with an eagerness that would have surprised me, had I not been so focused on finding out what else might be secreted away in the vanity.

In one drawer was several different combs and brushes of varying shapes and made from different materials. Another held an array of facial cleansers and scrubs. Another had cotton balls and cloths to use, some soft, some more abrasive. There was also an entire drawer devoted to nail care for both hands and feet, and I even found a pumice stone stuffed in the back.

I couldn't hold myself back. I had to _touch _everything. I opened bottles and smelled their contents, I ran my hands over the different cloths. I trailed my fingers down the bristles of the brushes and inspected the different combs. I even scratched at the palm of one of my hands with the pumice, so excited at all the different products and materials used in their making.

I knew, I _knew_, intellectually, that this fell somewhere between bribery for my affections and one more way for Blaine to turn me into his pretty little plaything. At the same time, it was exciting. I resented the motives behind it all. Yet, I couldn't quite bring myself to actually resent _having_all of this to use.

After years of dirty living, I had learned the true value of a hot bath or warm shower, the benefit of soap and shampoo and something with which to brush one's hair. I liked cleanliness. I liked my skin to be soft and touchable, not rough from hard work. I liked to look neat and put-together, and I liked smelling good.

"_Would that make you happy?_"

Blaine's words came echoing back to me then.

I had asked for this. Or, at least, I had all _but_ asked for it. And he did it to make me happy? _Right_. More like _complacent_.

Blaine could have had a few fancy soaps bought for me, with much less cost and much more ease, but he had done this. All of this took planning and forethought. The thought of what this might cost me made my heart sink, but even that couldn't completely erase the pleasure of having so many beauty products at my disposal.

It wasn't until I started to shiver that I realized I had been sitting there too long, that it was rather cool in the room.

It was quite a bit warmer than it had been the first morning I spent here, either due to a change in the weather or the heat being turned up, but it was still not at all warm enough to be sitting around in the nude.

I drew a bath for myself, relishing the thought of getting clean and having a chance to do nothing but relax for a time. It was actually nice.

Beside the tub was some shelving with different bath products packed in. I didn't remember it being quite this full, and when I went to investigate, I saw a number of bottles that were quite obviously brand new.

Being alone, I didn't bother to hold back a smile as I investigated my newest find. Eventually, I settled on a bath salt that smelled of chamomile, preferring something more mild than the peppermint-smelling salts I'd also found.

All I could think was that, _at last_, I would have a _good_day for the first time in far too long.

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I spent most of my day in a state of relaxation.

I soaked myself in the bath and washed every inch of my body until I felt clean. I scrubbed at the skin on my body that was dry and dull until it was new again and I nourished it with aloe. I spent time on my hair, fussing with it until I found a few different ways to style it to keep it out of my eyes and off of my face during the day. I tended to my nails, and spent a fair amount of time washing and moisturizing my face.

I must have spent hours in there, but I hardly noticed the time pass.

I dressed in the clothes Blaine left me and lounged around in bed, snacking on my breakfast leftovers and reading some of his books. I barely even noticed the maid who bustled into the room mid-afternoon to leave my lunch.

It was the clanging of the ring of keys at her waist that alerted me to her presence, but she was out of the room even more quickly than she had arrived.

Between the fresh-baked roll that vented steam when I cracked it open and the warm broth left for my meal, my stomach was full and I actually found myself feeling almost content for the first time in what felt like forever.

I was comfortably warm, nestled in a soft bed with an abundance of pillows and a blanket drawn up over my legs. I made it through perhaps half a chapter after lunch before I nodded off, the book closing over my fingers as my eyes slipped shut.

When I finally awoke, it was to the sounds of conversation above my head. I was too tired to focus in on what was being said until I felt the shifting of the mattress as someone sat down beside me.

Blaine. The sharp smell of him invaded my senses as he reached down to ruffle my hair, stroking his fingers against my scalp from forehead to the nape of my neck. I couldn't hold back a hum of pleasure, his nails scratching in a way that sent shivers down straight to my toes.

"Shh," he said, voice soft and soothing to my half-sleeping state, "don't get up." He leaned in to press a kiss against my forehead, but I couldn't help but roll onto my back to look at the other person in the room. I was too curious not to.

"Who—?" I started to ask, my voice thick with sleep, but Blaine placed a hand low on my stomach, his thumb running soft circles against the shirt I wore.

"Don't worry about it. Just go back to sleep."

Something in his tone, his words, the way he was acting, _something_, struck me as utterly wrong. I was immediately much more alert, trying to sit up. But Blaine's hand slid up to my chest and he held me down, pinning me to the bed.

The stranger reached out and grabbed at my arm nearest to him. I shouted in fear, my voice weak from disuse, and tried to wrench it away from him, but his hold was too strong. I kicked out my legs, but my efforts were hampered by the blanket I'd left tangled up over them. And all too soon, Blaine was straddling my thighs, holding me down.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" Blaine asked the other man, his lips curled up in an angry sneer.

That was when I saw the syringe.

I had no idea what was in it, but the way Blaine was acting didn't bode well for me. What if it was a poison? What if Blaine's mother was too insistent, to determined to send me off for training? Blaine said he would never. What if he was trying to make sure she couldn't send me away?

I had been awoken from my nap suddenly, and the strange man in the room holding a loaded syringe didn't exactly leave me thinking clearly. Or much at all.

I doubled my efforts, screaming and twisting my limbs, trying to dislodge Blaine from atop me, trying to get the man to remove his grip on my forearm.

"_Let me go_!"

Blaine reached up with his free hand and smacked me across the face.

Taking advantage of my stunned state, too surprised by Blaine's violence to continue to thrash, the man pushed the needle into the crook of my arm and injected me with whatever drug was inside the casing.

As I grew limp in my fear and dismay he released my arm, carefully withdrawing the thin metal from my flesh. The moment I was free of it, I reached up and attempted to claw at his face, fingers curved to bare my nails. Unfortunately, I didn't get far with Blaine still sitting on me, holding me down against the mattress. The stranger laughed and took a step back, easily avoiding my swipes at him.

"Feisty bitch you have there," he said, his voice thick, his tone mocking.

"Shut up," Blaine snapped at him. "If you'd actually done your job right, he wouldn't have even woken up when we got here, let alone had the chance to throw a fit." He looked down at me, obviously somewhat concerned. Blaine pressed a hand to the cheek he had slapped and stroked it in what he probably felt was a reassuring manner. "I hope I didn't hit you too hard."

He hadn't. He'd startled me more than anything. But I wasn't going to tell _him_that.

"Don't you worry. If he bruises, I got some cream in my kit that'll clear it right up. I throw some in, free o' charge." He smiled, teeth looking sharp and pointed to my eyes.

"How magnanimous of you," Blaine said sarcastically, glowering at the man. Then, sighing as he looked back down at me, he eased himself up and off of my body, but stayed by my side, caressing my scalp with his fingertips once again.

"What was in that?" I asked, fearful of the answer, but too afraid _not_to ask. My body felt heavy, and I was tired. My heart had been racing due to my fear, but I felt it slowing at a steady rate. All the fight was leaving me, inch by inch. I was still scared, but too tired to react to the emotion.

"Shh," Blaine hushed me. "It was simply a sedative. You're fine. Did you think I was trying to hurt you?"

The bastard was _amused_.

"The thought crossed my mind," I said. Or, at least, tried to say. I was going to be scathing and disgusted by his brutishness, but my words came out slurred and exhausted.

"Sorry." He didn't particularly sound apologetic about it. "I wanted to get it done without waking you in the first place.

"I told you today would be a big day," he went on. "For the both of us." Blaine's gaze was intense as he touched me, trailing his fingers down the side of my head. He bypassed my ears for once, to my surprise, and was touching my neck instead. His expression softened, staring where his hand met my skin.

It was growing more and more difficult to keep my eyes open. I managed to catch him opening his mouth to speak further, but my eyes closed, and his voice sounded too far away to hear.

The last thing I was consciously aware of was the feel of his mouth on mine, his lips curved up into a pleased smile.

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If you want to be kept in-the-know on what's going on with my writing process/when I'm writing/how close I am to updating, you can follow my tumblr account (andhopeto) and/or twitter account (planetfierce). I'm pretty active on Tumblr, but my Twitter is almost entirely me talking about this fic.

So, yeah. Chapter six will either be stupidly long (it's already over 6k words) or it will be split up into two chapters and the chapter count will go up. We'll see. I hope you like this chapter, because I'm at the point where I can't really be objective about any of it, so I really don't know if it's on par with the rest of the story or not.

I hope you'll continue to have patience with my slow self. And your reviews always brighten me up a little; thank you so much for being wonderful.

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I'm always open to comments/reviews/con-crit/'you-missed-a-word's.


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